


Hell of A Place

by Isabella2004



Category: Deadwood
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Romance, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabella2004/pseuds/Isabella2004
Summary: When his business partner dies leaving his half of the Gem Saloon to his daughter, Al Swearengen devises a plan to get his hands on it. But he didn't reckon on Catherine McCord not being prepared to give it up.
Relationships: Al Swearengen/OC
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story over ten years ago and posted it on a different fandom. I thought I'd post it here for additional traffic.  
> The story loosely follows events in the show but dates and other aspects differ.  
> This is the first in a series.

February 16th 1876

As the last of the evening's customers stumbled their way out into the cool night air, Al Swearengen thumped a bottle of whisky down on the bar alongside two glasses and poured two shots. Downing the first in one, he slid the other to the man sat opposite and watched as he did the same.

"Here's to our first fucking 6 months in business," Al said, pouring another. "Long may it continue."

"I'll drink to that," Travis McCord agreed, clinking his glass with the other. "Ain't no reason why it shouldn't."

"Nope," Al agreed. "I reckon we made the best decision of our lives coming out here." He watched as Jewel started sweeping the floor, her gimp leg clattering against the wood, her movements sudden and jerky. "Lord fucking knows why we agreed to bring her."

Travis looked over his shoulder, "She's all right."

"She's fucking useless. Can't whore, can't clean properly, can't talk properly…waste of fucking money if you ask me."

"Catherine felt sorry for her, you know that."

"Catherine ain't running this place, is she? Fact is your daughter has far too much influence over you as it is in life without bringing her into this business. You're too fucking soft Travis, that's your problem, always has been, always will be."

Travis laughed and poured himself another shot. "What can I say? She's as stubborn as a mule that one. Takes right after her mother, God rest her soul."

Al lifted his own glass, "Amen to that. Your Evelyn was a good woman. But you need to keep that kid on a leash, Travis. Ain't gonna do her no good getting big ideas in her head."

"She's twenty one years old, what can I do? She's too old for the back of my hand, not that it ever did her much good in the past anyway."

"No woman is ever too old for the back of your hand. Just ask my Nettie."

"I would if she hadn't divorced you for being a cocksucker," Travis said. "Besides, you've always been more comfortable with that kind of thing than I have."

"Don't give me any sleepless nights telling a whore what's what."

"My daughter ain't no whore."

"I never said she was," Al held up his hands, "I'm just saying she's got a big mouth is all. I've known her all her Goddamn life and I could have told you right from the day she was born she'd be trouble."

"Kitty ain't well. I'm taking her out of commission." As if on cue, Catherine McCord came down the stairs wiping her hands on her skirts. As she approached the bar, she clicked her fingers in the direction of the whisky bottle and Al slid it over to her. "Thank you." Pouring herself a large shot, she downed it in one and slid the bottle back.

"Since when do you decide what whores work and what ones don't?" he asked her.

"Since I'm in charge of them."

"You ain't in charge of shit," Al said, "and don't you forget it."

"What's wrong with her?" Travis asked, keen to avoid a fight.

"She's in pain," Catherine said, "Fact is, she's the most popular girl here and she's suffering for it. Better get the Doc to take a look at her tomorrow. Reckon he might be able to give her something to soothe it."

"Soothe what, her cunt?" Al said. "She's a whore, Cathy, no point in soothing her cunt. It's only gonna get all tore up again."

"She needs a rest," Catherine glared at him.

"What she needs is to lay on her back and take it like the whore she is. Unless…" he raised his eyebrows questioningly at her, "you want to take her place for a while."

"Fuck you."

"Any time, my dear."

"That's enough," Travis said, getting to his feet. "Watch your fucking mouth Al."

"Calm yourself Travis," Al said. "I'd rather stick my prick in a pan of fucking hot soup than in her."

"And as for you…" Travis pointed at his daughter, "don't you be forgetting your place."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "And what exactly is my place?"

"One step above those whores you care so much about," Al butted in before Travis could reply. "One word from me or your Daddy and you could be joining them."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Travis rounded on his friend. "Have a little respect for my daughter for fuck's sake! She is not one of those whores that you can speak to how you may. I won't have it, Al. I'm a partner in this business same as you. Goddamnit I've known you half my life. Keep your fucking filthy ideas to yourself!"

"Oh now come on Travis," Al said, "you know me and the kid are only joking around, aren't we Cathy?" He stepped around the bar and put his arm around her shoulder. "I wouldn't let any of the fuckers in this camp near her precious pussy and you know it, isn't that right, Cathy?"

Travis threw up his hands, "I give up on the fucking pair of you. Bad as each other you are." He downed one last glass of whisky. "I'm going to bed. You two do whatever the hell you like and I'll see you in the morning."

"Night Daddy," Catherine said, offering her cheek for him to kiss.

"Good night honey." Travis replied before loping up the stairs to his room and closing the door firmly behind him.

"That was your fucking fault," Catherine said, once he was out of earshot. "You shouldn't be getting him all riled up like that about shit. It ain't good for his health."

"Ain't a fucking thing wrong with his health," Al said, pouring them both another drink. "Your daddy's gonna outlive us all at this rate." He slid the glass over to her. "But don't think I won't slap you just cause he won't."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh no you don't, not if you want your little ass to remain as white, smooth and unblemished as I'm sure it is." He was suddenly distracted by Jewel walking across the floor, dragging her leg behind her. "Could you make any more fucking noise if you tried?"

"Leave her be. She can't help being crippled."

"She's a fucking liability that what she is. I've a good mind to toss her out into the camp and see what fucking degenerate would crawl out and claim her."

Catherine drained her glass and thumped it down on the bar. "On that cheerful note…I am going to go to bed."

"Wonderful. No more will I have to listen to your fucking shit. I'll actually be able to get some fucking peace!" She tossed him a look over her shoulder as she made her way to the stairs, stopping to speak softly to Jewel in the process. Then, he watched as she climbed the stairs and crossed the balcony to her room.

"Goodnight Al," she called as she opened the door.

"Get in there and shut the fuck up," he threw back in response. The door closed behind her and he let out a long breath. Catherine fucking McCord. If he had known that the kid with the big blues eyes and shiny red hair would have grown up to be such a fucking pain in the ass, he would have convinced Travis to strangle her at birth. Now he was stuck with her, nipping him in the ear at every possible moment about how things at the Gem were run. Lifting the almost empty bottle, he climbed the stairs, pausing ever so briefly outside her door, before carrying on to his own room and the quiet oblivion of sex and sleep.

February 20th 1876

Al was just finishing his breakfast when he heard the determined footsteps of what could only be a woman and, looking up, saw Catherine marching down the stairs towards him, a look of supreme irritation on her face.

"Christ, what now?" he muttered under his breath.

"I need to talk to you," she said, striding over to where he was sitting and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh please, feel free to bore me senseless with your latest problem," he replied. "In fact, why not sit down and do it so that I don't feel as though I'm being chastised by my mother."

"I'll stand, thank you," she replied.

"Suit yourself."

"Now I know that you're a man with needs but please remember that my room is next to yours and I really don't want to have to spend my evenings lying listening to you and whichever whore you've chosen for the night, fucking like animals!"

Al laughed, "I'm sorry, are we keeping you awake?"

"Yes, and I know you only do it to fucking get my goat!"

"Well I'm grieved to hear that. Next time I'll put a fucking rag in her mouth and we'll all hope and pray to God that she don't choke on it at the crucial moment."

Catherine shook her head, "You're a cocksucker."

"And you're an uptight little virgin who's never known what it's like to have a man's cock inside her, otherwise you would know when to leave things well alone." He wiped his mouth and stood up to face her. "This is my business and I'll do whatever I like and I'll fuck whoever the fuck I like and I really don't give a shit if you're standing in the fucking room watching while I do it. In fact," he paused, mockingly, "I might enjoy that more."

"Fuck you," she turned and walked away.

"Like I've said before, any time!" He laughed again and carried his plate and cup over to the bar where Dan Dorrity was wiping up. "Tight-assed little bitch."

"She giving you trouble?" Dan asked.

"Oh, it's just Catherine being Catherine," Al replied. "If it's not the way we treat Jewel it's how loud we fuck the whores. I swear that woman will not be happy until she has all of us bowing and kissing her fucking feet."

"You want me to talk to her?" Dan asked nonchalantly.

Al didn't miss his meaning. "No I fucking don't, and you know better than to suggest it."

"All I meant was…"

"I know what you meant. You don't want to talk to her, you want to fuck her despite your feelings about her and I've told you before that ain't happening. Travis would rip your prick off and I'd slit your throat so you're better off keeping your distance."

"Speaking of Travis," Dan quickly changed the subject. "He weren't looking so good earlier. Pale, sweating, coughing like he had a lungful of smoke. Couldn't even get himself out of bed."

"Send Adams to get Doc Cochran after he's finished with Wu. Last thing I need or want is Travis shuffling around here like he's about to meet his maker." Al turned as footsteps signalled Catherine's imminent arrival. "Oh Jesus, not again."

"I'm going out," she said, without stopping.

"Out where?" he asked automatically.

"To see the doctor. Daddy's awful poorly this morning and he could use some more of that medicine Cochran gave him the last time." She lifted her shawl from where it hung next to the door. "I won't be long."

"Oh, please, take all the fucking time you need," Al said. "The longer the better in fact."

"Fuck you," she shot him another withering look and then pulled open the door, letting it slam back against its hinges.

XXXX

Outside the Gem, the camp was bustling. More and more people were arriving every day and what had started off as a small population was growing rapidly. In front of her, was a sea of tents and buildings, horses and cattle, men, women and children, all going about their daily business. The noise could be deafening sometimes. Coming from the middle of nowhere, where sometimes all you could hear was the sound of the birds, it was certainly different and was almost as bad as lying in bed listening to Al fuck his latest whore.

Trying to watch where she placed her feet, Catherine made her way along the street to where Doc Cochrane lived. On more than one occasion, she narrowly avoided slipping and falling face down into the mud and by the time she reached her destination, the bottom of her dress was black. Cochran was just coming out when she approached and she was glad she had left when she had.

"Morning Catherine," he greeted her, touching his hat.

"Morning Doc, I'm glad I caught you."

"Something the matter?"

"It's Daddy. He ain't so good again this morning. I reckon it's his chest. He was coughing and wheezing most of the night and he hasn't been able to get out of bed so far today. I was hoping you might be able to give him some of that medicine that seemed to do the trick the last time."

"Of course I can," he reassured her. "Hold on a minute til I see if I've got some handy." He turned and went back inside, closing the door over momentarily.

As she waited, Catherine turned back to survey the passers by in the street and saw Seth Bullock and Sol Star passing. As they saw her, they both touched their hats to her.

"Morning Miss McCord," Seth said.

"Good morning Mr Bullock, Mr Star." They kept on walking and, a few moments later, Doc reappeared holding a small vial.

"This should do the trick," he said, handing it to her. "Have him take it three times a day and he should be right as rain within a day or two."

"Thank you," she said, reaching into her pocket.

"No, no, no, leave that," Cochran said.

"Now Doc, I must pay you."

"I can get it from you later. I'll be over at the Gem checking in on Kitty anyhow. Keep your money for the moment."

"Thank you," she repeated. "Kitty seems to be doing better since you gave her that ointment. She was back working last night."

"I figured she would be," Doc nodded, "Ain't like Al to let a good whore go to waste."

"No," she agreed, "I guess it isn't. Good day Doc."

"Good day Catherine."

XXXX

When she arrived back at the Gem, there were already a few customers inside, including E.B. Farnum, the local hotelier and one of the many men in camp who she couldn't stand. He was sat at a table with Al enjoying the whisky and the look that one of the girls was giving him from the corner of the room. "Good morning Miss Catherine," he greeted her as she walked past.

"Mr Farnum." Without so much as a backwards glance, she climbed the stairs and made her way along to her father's room. She knocked and waited for his response before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "I've got some medicine for you, Daddy."

Travis was still lying in bed, looking deathly pale and coughing frequently. "That's my girl, Cathy," he said. "I can always rely on you." He watched as she poured some of the liquid out onto a spoon and gratefully allowed her to place it in his mouth.

"Doc says three times a day, like before," she set the bottle down on the table beside the bed. "You should be fine in a few days."

"That's good to hear," Travis said, coughing slightly as he spoke.

"Is there anything else I can get you right now?" Catherine asked. "Some food? Or tea?"

He shook his head, "Sit with me a while though." She perched herself on the side of the bed and took her hand in his. "You look more like your mother with each passing year. Same eyes, same hair, same stubborn temper."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have me any other way."

"That I wouldn't," he nodded. "But you can't live the whole rest of your life at the Gem with me and Swearengen. You need to go out there and make your own life."

"The way the camp is, I reckon the Gem's as safe a place as any," she said.

"You're twenty-one, Catherine. It's about time you were finding yourself a husband. Get out of this place and make your own family. If for no other reason than to give my poor head a rest from listening to you and Al go at it like cat and dog."

"We're only making sport, Daddy, you know that," she reassured him. "Deep down I respect Al and I know he respects me."

"Well, I ain't going to be around forever you know and…"

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true," he insisted. "I don't want to leave you an orphan with no-one else in this damn place."

"Daddy, you've got a cold, that's all," Catherine got to her feet. "Now I'll bring you some hot soup and then you can sleep and I want no more of this talk, you hear me?" She moved to the door without waiting for an answer and quickly left the room, bumping into Al in the process.

"How is Travis?" he asked, brandishing a whisky bottle. "Thought I'd bring him a little tipple."

"He doesn't need that," she said, moving to grab the bottle from him, but he quickly pulled it away.

"It's rude to grab," he told her, "unless it's a man's prick and then he's all the better for you doing the grabbing."

Catherine rolled her eyes and pushed past him, stomping her way decisively down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Al laughed as he pushed open his friend's door. "A quick ass fuck would be just the thing to sort you out, my lady."


	2. Chapter 2

February 23rd 1876

As the clock down in the bar chimed a soft three strokes, Catherine lay watching the ceiling, listening to the wheezing grunts coming from her father's room. The medicine Doc had provided hadn't done anything to alleviate his symptoms and he had remained in his room for nearly four days now unable to do much except sleep. Business at the Gem had carried on regardless of course. The men still came to drink and to fuck and Al had appeared to manage quite well without his partner. He seemed not to have chosen a whore to satisfy him that evening as she hadn't heard any noise coming from his chamber, but that was really evidence of nothing. For all she knew, he may well have made good upon his suggestion of using a gag.

As another burst of coughing shattered the still air, she got out of bed, pulled her house coat on over her chemise and stole softly out of the room. Looking over the balcony, she saw that the bar was quiet with only David the night barman, pretending to be awake whilst leaning over the bar, his head falling onto his arms. Everyone else was gone to bed. Or so she thought.

"There a reason you're wandering around in the middle of the night showing your tits?"

She started as Al appeared from out of the shadows, whisky bottle in hand, his shirt unbuttoned almost to his waist revealing the long johns beneath. "You scared me," she pulled her house coat tighter around her self-consciously. "What are you doing creeping around here? You decide to visit the girls rather than invite one of them into your bed?"

"I own this joint, remember?" He took a slug from the bottle. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I'm going to check on Daddy, he sounds terrible."

"That he does. That medicine the Doc gave him hasn't done him no good, has it?"

"No." Catherine paused as Travis let out another guttural cough. "I'm worried it might have gotten into his lungs. Be pneumonia or something."

"You a doctor now?"

"No…"

"Cause I reckon Cochran would be very interested in hearing your medical opinion on his patient."

"Get out of my fucking way," she pushed past him, the sound of his laugher dying behind her as she opened the door of her father's room and stepped inside. A single candle was burning in the corner and, in the faint light, she could see Travis lying half slumped in the bed. "Daddy…" she hurried over to him and found herself shocked by the redness of his face and the sweat soaking into the top of his long johns.

"I'm all right…" he wheezed. "Just…just don't feel so good."

"Here…" she pulled him forwards in the bed and set about plumping his pillows. "Lie back now. Lord, Daddy, you're as fiery as the stove. I'd best fetch something to cool you down."

"Whisky would be nice."

"Over my dead body," Catherine said, moving back to the door. "I'll get you a bowl and some water and sponge you down." She opened the door and came face to face with Al again, leaning back against the balcony. "If you're looking for something useful to do, why don't you go and get the Doc." Without waiting for a response, she hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen where she filled a large bowl with cool water from the bucket, grabbed the nearest clean cloth she could find and made her way back up. By the time she returned, Al was standing half in the door of Travis' room. "You still fucking here?"

"He really don't look good, does he?"

He turned to face her and, for the first time, she saw genuine concern in his expression. "No, he don't. That's why he needs the Doc."

Al nodded. "I'll send Dan."

Catherine moved back into the room, closing the door behind her and hurried back over to the bed. "Here Daddy," she poured some of the water into a glass and helped him to drink it, before beginning to sponge him down. "You're gonna feel a whole lot better soon. Al's sent Dan to get the Doc and…and you'll be right as rain." He didn't reply, merely continued to shiver as she bathed him. She tried to think of other things to say, mindless, pointless things, anything to drown out the sound of his chest, but there was nothing that sprung to mind.

It felt like hours before Doc appeared, his hair even wilder than usual, proof that he'd been woken from a slumber.

"Morning Catherine," he greeted her quietly.

"Doc. I've been sponging him down and making him drink water…" she got up from her chair. "But I don't really know what else to do."

He patted her shoulder. "Why don't you go downstairs and get a drink. I'll examine him and I'll come down and see you after." He saw her hesitation and gave her an encouraging squeeze. "Go on now."

Without further prompting, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Down in the bar, she could see Al emptying the contents of a bottle and, despite him being the last person whose company she would have sought, it was better than no-one.

"Drink?" he enquired as she approached.

"Please." He passed her a glass. "Doc's with him."

"I got fucking eyes. Your old man is as strong as a fucking ox," he told her. "If anyone can get through this, he can." She didn't reply. "You're the spitting image of your mother, you know that?"

"It's been said," she replied, draining her glass and passing it back for a refill.

"I remember this one time…"

"Let's not fucking reminisce," she cut him off. "I ain't interested."

"Well pardon me for simply trying to offer some comfort at this difficult time."

"I don't need your fucking comfort. And if I needed any comfort at all, you would be the last person I would seek it from."

"Your opinion of me is most severe Miss Catherine," he mocked her. "Have I done something particular to deserve it or is it just myself in general that fucking offends you?"

"This whole place offends me," she replied. "We should never have fucking come here."

"Bit late for regrets now."

They both looked up as the door to Travis's room opened and Doc emerged. Catherine hurried forward to the bottom of the stairs to meet him. "He's sleeping now," he told her. "I've given him some more of the medicine from before but…it's pneumonia I'm afraid."

Catherine tossed Al a hollow look of triumph, "I thought so. But, he's going to be all right, ain't he Doc?" the other man paused. "Ain't he?"

"He's very sick, Catherine," he told her. "We'll know more by morning, that's all I can say right now. Sit with him now, both of you," he directed his gaze to Al, "and I'll see you in a few hours."

XXXX

"Al…"

"Stop fucking talking," Al said, leaning forward in his chair. "If not for yourself then for me. This is the only peace I've had in the last few hours." He gestured across to the other side of the room where Catherine sat sleeping in the chair, her chin pressed against her fist having finally given in after hours of battling to stay awake. "You know, the worse fucking thing you and Evelyn ever did was teach her to talk."

"You gotta…help me…" Travis wheezed.

"Doc's coming back in the morning…"

"No…you gotta promise me something."

"Jesus, Travis…"

"Promise me…" he reached out and grabbed hold of Al's arm causing the other man to wince slightly at the heat of his flesh. "Promise me you'll take care of Catherine. She ain't…she ain't got nobody else…"

"You're going to be just fine," Al said, ignoring the request. "You don't need me to go promising such things."

"Promise me!" Travis demanded again, more insistent this time. "I can't die…til I know she'll be all right."

"You ain't dying, you cocksucker," Al told him, "and even if you were, Cathy's more than capable of watching out for herself. She doesn't need some old bastard like me riding her fucking ass."

"Please."

Al looked down into the pleading eyes of his oldest and dearest friend, the only person he had ever really felt himself with. The only man that he would ever come close to admitting that he carried feelings akin to love for. "All right, I promise," he said. "I promise I'll look after her."

Travis smiled, "Th…thank you…" Then he closed his eyes, a small smile at the corner of his mouth, the concern and worry gone from his face. Al waited and watched as each breath became more laboured, each rattle of the chest became more death-like, until the final breath was drawn and the air was silent.

After a few long moments, when he had satisfied himself that Travis had truly gone, he got up from his chair and moved over to where Catherine still sat. Under different circumstances he might have pushed her chair to rouse her, or done some other act the purpose of which was to cause humilation. But somehow, it seemed inappropriate. He crouched down in front of her instead. "Catherine." She slept on. "Catherine, wake up." Gently, he shook her shoulder until her eyes opened. "He's gone."

It seemed to take an age for her to comprehend his words. Sleep slowly cleared from her eyes and her gaze flitted from his to the bed and back again. "What?"

"He's gone."

"But…" she pulled herself into an upright position. "But…no…Daddy…" she got to her feet and stared at Travis's still figure. "But…the Doc's coming back in the morning. He was going to be fine…" Her eyes filled with tears and she clamped a hand over her mouth, sobs bursting forth. "Daddy…"

Al stepped forward and awkwardly pulled her into his arms. "It's all right," he told her as she sagged against him, her tears soaking his shoulder. "You're gonna be just fine."

XXXX

"What happens now?" Catherine asked, staring miserably into the glass of whisky that had been placed in front of her. It had been only an hour since Al had woken her, an hour since Cochrane had been sent for to declare what they all knew to be the truth, an hour since the door to the bedroom had been locked and Johnny placed outside as guard.

"You drink that, that's what happens now," Al said, pushing it closer to her. "Do you the world of good." He watched as she reluctantly downed it. "We'll organise the coffin and Reverend Smith can conduct the service, if he's of a sound enough fucking mind to do so, and your Daddy'll get a decent burial."

"I know all of that. I mean what happens now?"

"Christ woman, stop talking in fucking riddles!"

"I'm no lawyer," Doc interrupted, "but my guess would be that, being your father's sole heir, all his possessions including his interest in the Gem, pass to you."

Catherine looked at him sadly, "That's what I meant."

"Of course," Al said, as though he had known all along her meaning. "That's exactly what'll happen."

"So I guess that makes the two of you…umm…partners."

Catherine looked at Al, barely able to hide her annoyance at the fact, "I guess it does."

"Partners?" he took a slug of the whisky and laughed, "I don't think so. I ain't partnering no woman in my business, that's for fucking sure."

"Don't reckon you've got much of a choice, Al," Doc said.

"Reckons I do, Doc." He turned to Catherine again. "I'll tell you what I'll do."

"This should be fucking good," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'll buy your daddy's share from you for a good price."

"Really?" she stared at him. "What kind of price?"

"Well, we'd have to look at the books and work it all out, but you know me, Cathy, I'll see you right in that respect."

"Fleece me to fuck, more likely." She looked down at the tabletop and traced a ridge in the wood with her thumb, knowing the answer to his suggestion. "I don't want to sell."

Al put down his glass with a thump. "I don't believe I heard you right. You don't want to what?"

"I said I don't want to sell." She met his gaze again. "Especially not to you and I don't have to if I don't want to. My Daddy worked hard in this place and it's the only thing I've got worth a damn."

"Oh, so what exactly are you going to do then?"

"Take my Daddy's place. Work here as your partner. Nothing really has to change…" She trailed off knowing that, in reality, everything had changed.

"I see…" he nodded, "and what exactly happens when you decide to get married?"

Catherine frowned, "Married?"

"Married," he repeated. "I mean, I'm sure that, eventually, some cocksucker in this camp is going to catch your eye and you'll want to get married and have babies and get fucking fat and lazy like most married women…"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded, cutting him off. "Not that it's liable to happen any goddamn time soon, but what difference would me being married make?"

"I think what Al is trying to say…" Doc interrupted.

"Al Swearengen can speak for him, Doc, but thank you very much for your input," Al glared at him, staring to feel more than a little pissed off by Catherine's incessant arguing. "What I'm saying, Cathy, is that the minute you marry whichever cocksucker you choose, your share in this place will transfer to him. I'm sure a bright girl like you knows that a married woman can't hold property in her own fucking name." She didn't reply and he knew that she hadn't considered it. "And then what happens if you later decide to get divorced? He gets to keep his share in the Gem and you…well you get fuck all except a sore pussy and tits down to your ankles."

"Fine," she tossed her head, ignoring his crudeness, "then I just won't ever get married. Plenty of women don't and seem all the happier for it."

"Ah, you say that now," Al said knowingly. "But one day…" he left it hanging in the air. "You should reconsider my offer. I would make it worth your while to sell and then you could do whatever the fuck you wanted, go wherever the fuck you liked." As far away from here as fucking possible, he thought inwardly.

"Unless you married her, Al," Doc said. "That would solve all your fucking problems." Al and Catherine both stared at him. "Sorry," he coughed, "not really my place to suggest…" he finished his whisky and got to his feet. "I'll go and speak to the Reverend and make the initial arrangements. If that's all right with you…" he directed his final comment at Catherine.

"Uh…no, that would be fine. Thank you…" she replied. After he had walked away, she turned back to Al who was watching her, a strange expression on his face that she couldn't identify. "What a fucking ridiculous suggestion." She got to her feet. "I swear he's been drinking that laudanum he's so keen to dole out." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from the table.

XXXX

"Marry her? Marry her?!"

"E.B…stop sounding so fucking shocked," Al said, pouring his friend a whisky, "You'd think I'd suggested that you marry her."

"Well I mean I…" Farnum danced around, "I do admit to being a little shocked by that proposal. I had never imagined for a moment that you harboured such feelings for the girl."

"Let's get one thing straight," Al pointed at him, "I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Harbour any feelings for the girl. This would be a purely business arrangement. I ain't about to get down on one knee and profess undying love for her. Can't think of anything worse to be quite fucking honest."

"And the business side of it?"

"I get full control of the Gem. Sole owner. Being her husband, her share in the business would transfer to me automatically."

Farnum nodded, "I can see how that would be an advantage." He stroked his moustache, "Wouldn't it be easier to just buy her share though? Save saddling yourself with a wife."

"She won't sell, more's the fucking pity."

"Why not? You'd think she'd want clear of the place what with her Daddy dying here and all."

"Women are sentimental, E.B, it's a fucking curse on them, but they are. This is the saloon her Daddy helped build, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera. She wants to keep on working here, build something. In his memory, of course."

"Of course. And how is she disposed to your proposal?"

"I haven't made it yet," Al replied. "It was Doc Cochran's throwaway suggestion and, I have to admit, it didn't go down well at the time. She may be even less inclined to marry me than she is to sell to me."

"But I don't doubt a man like you has a plan to make her accept your proposal when it comes," E.B. flattered.

"You know me so well, E.B," Al replied, "and I need you to help me in my endeavour."

"I shall be proud and honoured to help you, Al, as you well know. Anything you need me to do I will do."

"Good," Al replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "I need you to start spreading rumours about how dangerous the camp's becoming, especially for the womenfolk. We need a few stories about women being frightened, possibly even attacked, robbed, maybe worse."

"I haven't heard any such rumours."

"Of course you haven't," Al sighed, "that's why you need to invent them. And make them sound good and plausible."

"I can see the merit in it," E.B mused, "but do you really think a few stories is going to help persuade Catherine that marriage to you is the best option?"

"Oh, but it ain't just going to be a few stories," Al said, pouring them another couple of drinks. "I have something special in mind for Miss McCord."


	3. Chapter 3

February 27th 1876

It took three days to organise the funeral, much to Catherine's dismay. Rev Smith had taken a particularly bad seizure the day Travis had died which had led to him requiring a few days recuperation at Cochrane's and a storm had ruined the best wood available for the coffin and more had to be requested urgently from Bismarck. It felt like the longest three days of her life, spent wandering around the Gem not entirely sure what to do or how to feel. Business continued as usual but it touched her how many of the regulars, taking a moment between drinking and fucking, offered her their condolences and spoke of what a good man her father had been. Despite her desperate sadness, she found that she couldn't shed any tears. She wanted to, and even at night prayed for them to come, but they didn't. Instead, she felt as though she was in a fog, drifting aimlessly, searching for solid ground.

Al had wisely chosen to leave her alone in those first few days. Their conversation was limited to only the bare minimum over meals or in the course of the day. He hadn't pushed her any more on the subject of a sale and for that she was grateful. He too had seemed somewhat melancholy since her father's passing and, for the briefest of times, she wondered if she had perhaps judged him too harshly.

The appointed day of the funeral dawned bright and sunny, though the wind was chill. Her wardrobe contained hardly anything suitable for mourning as it was, so her choice of outfit for the service was a simple black, high-necked dress. She swept her hair up into a pony tail and secured it with the one nice piece of jewellery she had, a silver clasp that had been left to her by her mother. The Gem was to be closed until after the service as a mark of respect and it was a request that she hadn't even had to make of Al. He had suggested it to her and she had willingly agreed that it was the right thing to do.

As she finished readying herself, someone knocked at the door to her room and, upon opening it, she found Al on the other side. His appearance took her aback somewhat and it must have shown on her face as she took in his sombre black suit.

"What are you fucking looking at?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she replied, "I've just never seen that suit before."

"I didn't realise you were a fucking expert on my wardrobe," he replied. "As for you…" he gave her a quick once over, "You look fine."

"Thank you," she touched her hair self-consciously. "Is it time?" He nodded and she stepped out into the hallway, locking her door behind her.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Lock your fucking door."

"Lot of people come in and out of this place," she said, "and I got stuff I don't want to risk getting taken."

"What stuff?"

"None of your fucking business. Can we go?" Without waiting for a response, she walked along the balcony to the stairs and, looking over, saw Dan, Silas and Johnny waiting by the bar wearing their best mourning clothes. They all looked rather uncomfortable and Johnny kept pulling at his shirt, an action which made her smile despite everything.

"You three scrub up well," she commented as she came down the stairs.

"So do you," Silas replied, "despite everything."

"Thanks," she fiddled with the clasp in her hair again before stepping over to the bar and pouring herself a drink from an idle bottle. "What about the girls?"

"Trixie took them to the graveyard already," Dan explained.

"Good."

"May I again offer my condolences Miss Catherine on the loss of your father."

Catherine groaned at the sound of Farnum's voice and, turning, saw him standing behind her. "Thank you once again, Mr Farnum," He had been offering his condolences on every occasion since Travis had passed and it was becoming tiresome.

"A sad day for you, when you need all the support from friends and allies that you can get. Therefore, please allow me to escort you to the service," he said, holding out his arm.

"Oh, well I..." she glanced over at Al, "I assumed that..."

"Go with E.B." he encouraged her. Seeing her reluctance, he came over and patted her arm, "We'll be right behind you."

Not wanting to argue, she said nothing more and allowed Farnum to walk her out of the Gem and along the thoroughfare towards the graveyard. His initial conversation was mundane at best, commenting on the weather, his position as Mayor and, as usual, criticising his most loyal employee, Richardson, at every opportunity.

"Camp's expanding," he said suddenly after a few blissful moments of silence.

"Yes it is," she replied.

"More and more people turning up every day."

"Indeed."

"I have noticed in recent days that a rougher element has also made its presence felt," Farnum said, "I have seen a number of things that I do not think, as Mayor, we want for this camp. Incidents of robbing and even murder have increased dramatically and it's the womenfolk of the camp, such as yourself, that I feel the most concern for."

"You don't have to worry about me, Mr Farnum," Catherine replied, glancing behind to make sure Al and the others were following. "My Daddy schooled me well in the use of both gun and blade."

"Oh…I'm sure he did, but there was a terrible incident just the other day that I really think all the women in the camp should be aware of. A young woman was walking near Chinks alley when she was grabbed from behind, pulled into a doorway and viciously robbed."

Catherine glanced at him, "I didn't hear anything about that."

"Well, I can assure you it happened," Farnum continued. "Not only was she robbed and hit about the face…but he put his fingers in her unmentionable too. As I understand it, the poor woman is traumatised."

"Who was this woman?"

"I confess to being unfamiliar with her name, but it only goes to prove my point about the dangers in camp. You should be careful if you are ever walking alone, especially at night."

"Thank you for your concern, Mr Farnum," she said as they approached the graveyard, "I'll certainly bear all of that in mind."

If Farnum wanted to say more, he was prevented from doing so by their reaching of their destination. Travis's coffin sat next to the dug grave and Catherine was pleased that the service was well attended. The girls were present as were many others she recognised from the Gem. Tom Nuttall, Merrick and Sol Star were also present, the former stepping forward and kissing her briefly on the cheek as she took up her place at the head of the grave.

"Thank you for coming, friends," Rev Smith began. "We are all here to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of one of our own, Travis McCord, who lived and died in our camp. He was a good man, a kind man and would be gratified I'm sure to see so many of you come to pay your respects. And so we shall sing the hymn, 'Nearer My God To Thee.'

"A hymn written by a woman," Al muttered in her ear, "You would pick that one, wouldn't you?"

Catherine shot him a disdainful look as the singing began. Whilst she knew the hymn well herself and Al's voice was rich in one ear, Farnum's plaintive screeching in the other distracted her, so much so that she was glad when it was over.

"And now, I believe that Miss Catherine McCord wishes to say a few words," Rev Smith gestured to her and she moved from her position to stand facing the assembled mourners.

"We came to Deadwood last year," she began, "and my Daddy said that he felt more at home here than anywhere else he'd ever been. He admired and respected all of you and was grateful for the kindness you all showed him in return. He and I were together for almost twenty two years. He raised me all by hisself and I'll always be grateful for his love and guidance." She paused and looked at the coffin. "I hope you can hear me, Daddy, wherever you are, cause I promise you I'm going to make you proud of me. Just like I was of you." She paused and wiped the first tear for days from her eyes. "Drinks at the Gem for everyone." Then she nodded at the Reverend, indicating that she was finished. Stepping back, she watched as Al, Johnny, Dan and Silas helped lower the coffin into the grave before she tossed a handful of dirt on top of it and then, it was done.

"Nice words, Miss Catherine," Farnum said, falling into step beside her as she began making her way back to town. "I only hope you willmake your father proud by not falling victim to any predators that may, even as we speak, be ensconcing themselves in our camp."

"Don't worry Mr Farnum," she replied drily, "If I do, I'll be sure to mention your fucking concerns about their behaviour to them."

XXXX

"I thought you did well today," Al said, pouring two glasses of whisky and pushing one across the table towards her.

Catherine sighed heavily from her position, slumped in the chair opposite Al's in his office. "Thank you, though I assume you didn't rate my choice of hymn?"

"On the contrary, it was just the sort of thing I expected you to pick."

"Yes, well…" she unclipped her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, "Hope I don't need to do anything like that again soon."

"Not my first funeral and not likely to be my last," he replied. "Speech you gave was good. Came from the heart. Travis would have been proud."

"It was just how I felt." There was a long silence as they both drained their glasses, the sound of the piano drifting up from downstairs. "Don't reckon it's properly hit me yet that he's gone. I keep expecting the door to open and him to walk in with some useless piece of information or fucking bad joke."

"These things take time." He studied her downcast expression, the way she was playing with a thread on her dress and chose his moment to start leading her towards his plan. "Have you given any more consideration to my offer?"

Catherine looked up and met his gaze, "To sell?" He nodded. "No."

"No, you haven't given it any more consideration?"

"No, I ain't selling. I told you that before and you're a fucking fool if you ask me again." Her words came out harsher than she had meant and she immediately apologised. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that, but…I just can't sell."

"All right, but these are worrying times for the camp. What with the Indians, possible annexation and the way it's expanding. Bringing in all kinds of...unsavoury types and such like."

"You sound like Farnum," she replied dryly.

"Why, what's that cocksucker been up to?" Al asked nonchalantly.

"Starting whispering in my ear on the way to the service about how dangerous the camp's becoming for the womenfolk. Telling me stories about how some woman got attacked and robbed last week for a few dollars." She shivered involuntarily. "He was trying to scare me, I could tell."

"Were you? Scared, I mean."

Catherine laughed, "Of Farnum? He couldn't scare shit off a shovel." She shook her head. "But I ain't stupid enough not to see what he means. The camp is getting more dangerous, I know that. Seems like people are arriving every day to settle down here, people that none of us know, but that doesn't mean I'm going to sell. I won't give up everything that Daddy worked so hard to build. That we all worked so hard to build."

"Then if that is your position..." Al said, "I admire you for it."

She stared at him, confused by the sudden acceptance. "You do?"

"Of course. Takes a lot of fucking guts for a woman, on her own such as you are, to take that kind of stand." He poured her another glass.

"I ain't on my own," she replied, taking it and staring into the honey coloured liquid contained within. "I've got my share in this place and...well...all of you." Saying it made her feel uncomfortable, but the truth was, she wouldn't have been able to get through the day, wouldn't be able to contemplate getting through the immediate future, without their support.

He smiled at her discomfort, "That's very fucking true. And I can see your mind's made up on not selling me your share."

"It is."

"So, I have another offer to make to you."

"What's that then?"

"One of marriage."

Catherine snorted, "Marriage to whom?"

"To me."

She started laughing but quickly stopped when she realised he wasn't joining in her mirth. "You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"I never kid when it comes to matters of the heart," he replied with faux seriousness.

"Matters of the…shut the fuck up!" she retorted. "I ain't never heard anything so ridiculous in all my fucking life. Marry you? Jesus Christ, what a fucking thought."

"Your answer would be no, then."

"You ain't even properly asked me but..." she stopped as he rose from his seat and came around the desk to where she was seated. He paused for the briefest of moments and then started to lower himself down on one knee. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"This is how it's done," he replied, reaching out for her hand. "Catherine..."

"Oh Christ!" She tried to snatch her hand away, but he gripped her tightly by the wrist.

"I made your dying father a promise that I would look after you, care for you, guide you," he said, laying it on thick. "And while you live here under my...our...roof as a single woman, I find the task almost impossible. So, to alleviate me and, create a safe future for yourself, I ask you now whether or not you will consent to be my wife."

Catherine stared at him, her mind still trying to process that he could be at all serious. Her first ever proposal of marriage and it was coming from him. His expression was earnest however and she had little choice but to believe the proposal genuine. "Al..."

"I don't want to rush you, my dear, but I'm not as young as I used to fucking be and being down on one knee like this ain't doing nothing for my fucking joints."

"I...no, I mean...no..." she pulled her hand away from his, got up quickly from her seat and moved over to the other side of the room. "I'm not going to fucking marry you and if you think I would you're a fucking lunatic!"

"I'll confess it ain't exactly my idea of a happy ever after either but…think about the benefits," Al said pulling himself back to his feet and leaning back against his desk.

"There are no fucking benefits," she said, moving past him and pouring herself another glass of whisky from the bottle sat on the desk behind him.

"Don't be so fucking hasty…" he cautioned her. "I get your share of the Gem, thereby full control of the place…you get a roof over your head, three square meals a day and free rein with the whores." She shook her head. "Free rein, I mean it. You can decide who goes with who, negotiate prices, monitor their health needs…I mean, isn't that what you've really always wanted?"

"So what?" she challenged him. "I marry you, give you my half of this place and then what? You divorce me after a few months and throw me out onto the fucking streets? Forget it."

"I promised your daddy I'd take care of you and I intend to honour that promise."

"I doubt marrying me is what he had in mind." She shuddered at the very thought of being his wife, of being required to obey him, of having to give herself to him... "I can't imagine anything worse."

"Think about it."

"I don't need to think about it," she drained the last of her glass and moved back over to the door. "I ain't selling to you and I ain't marrying you. The answer to both is no." Without any further discussion, she threw open the door and stormed out, letting it slam hard behind her.

Al lifted the half empty whisky bottle and drank straight from it. "The answer may be no now," he said to no-one in particular, "but it won't be for long."

XXXX

"It ain't a bad idea…" Jewel opined later that night as Catherine relayed Al's offer. She hadn't meant to reveal what he had suggested to anyone but, unable to sleep, she had taken herself down to the kitchen to make tea, only to find Jewel still working. As she assisted her to finish clearing up for the night, she found herself opening up about what had transpired in his office.

"Are you fucking crazy?" she said, staring at the other woman. "You honestly think I should marry him and let him have my share of this place?"

"You get to stay here and Al'll look after you."

"Oh I'm sure he fucking will. He'll treat me like shit even more so than he does now. Plus, he'll always be able to threaten me with divorce so that I do what he fucking wants. And if I don't he'll have me out of the streets without so much as a fucking cent to my name."

"He wouldn't do that," Jewel insisted.

Catherine stared at her, "You know, for someone who gets as much shit from him as you do, you got some fucking strange loyalties, Jewel. How many times has he yelled at you about your fucking leg? How many times has he called you a gimp to your face? Jesus, would youmarry him?"

"Yeah, if he offered. Ain't likely anyone else will."

Catherine sighed heavily, "That wouldn't be a reason."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to do anything except run my half of this business," she said. "He can't take it from me and I ain't giving it to him, by sale or marriage. He's just going to have to learn to fucking live with that."

XXXX

"I must confess Al, that I don't believe my words had any effect on Miss Catherine. She did not seem overly afraid by my lies," Farnum bobbed around at the door of Al's office, recounting the conversation he had had with Catherine on the way to the funeral.

"No, I got that impression from her myself," Al agreed. "But I want you to keep it up, E.B, every chance you get."

"Well I will, of course, but to what end I know not. Did…uh…did you make an offer of marriage to her?"

"I did."

"And did she accept?"

"She did not," Al poured them both a drink. "But she will."

"I admire your confidence, Al, I really do," Farnum said, draining his glass. "I would not like to lay odds on your chances of winning her hand."

Al was preventing from rebuking him for his idiotic romanticising of the situation by the door opening and Dan entering. "You wanted to see me, boss?"

"Yes I did," Al replied, gesturing for him to come in and close the door. He waited for Farnum to excuse himself, but the moment did not arrive. "E.B. and I were just concluding our business, weren't we?"

"Oh…uh…yes, yes indeed we were," Farnum placed his glass back on the desk and backed off towards the door. "I look forward to our endeavours continuing over the next few days and I shall report to you with any developments, big or small."

"I'd be grateful," Al said. He waited until the door had closed behind Farnum before turning to Dan. "I'm going to ask you to do something that I'm not sure you'll like."

"What's that?"

"I need for you to arrange for Catherine to have a little accident."

Dan stared at him for a moment, "You want her dead?"

"No, fuck no! I just want her…shaken up a little bit. I want her feeling vulnerable, more willing to reconsider my offer of matrimony."

"Your offer of what?" 

"You don't need to know all the details," Al said, "All I want you to do is ensure that she gets a little roughed up is all. I do not, I repeat, do not want her fucking raped, cut or otherwise seriously injured in any way, or I swear to God the next blood shed will be yours, do you understand me?"

"Then what do you want me to do exactly?"

"Wait until she goes out to take the air one night, have her followed and have hands laid on her," he laid it out simply. "It can't be any of the three of you cause she will know. Find someone you trust to do the job right and leave them in no uncertain terms that if it comes back to me they won't live to see the first blooms of spring, understand?"

"I understand," Dan confirmed. "When do you want it done?"

"Leave it a couple of days. It's only fair to let her recover from the funeral and who knows, some time to think might make her reconsider her hasty rejection of my offer without the need for us to resort to this more...hands on method of persuasion."

"So…" Dan mused, "it's kind of like a case of her bringing it on herself really, ain't it?"

Al nodded in agreement, "That's right, Dan. That's the exact fucking way of looking at it."


	4. Chapter 4

March 2nd 1876

"My pussy still hurts."

Catherine crouched down in front of Kitty and rubbed her knee gently in sympathy. They shared the same number of years on earth and yet the whore looked years older, a direct result of a good five spent whoring and drinking. Her blonde hair was dry, her eyes huge in her hollow face and her skin broken. "That cream Doc gave you not doing any good, huh?"

"No, it did but…" Kitty paused, "I've been doing double recently. More tricks than any of the other girls and…" she looked away, "I don't mind it cause I don't want to make Al angry but it's just…"

"You ain't going to make Al angry," Catherine reassured her, "Al don't give a fuck what you do so long as money's coming in this place. If your pussy needs a rest, give hand jobs and suck prick for a few days."

"But if he notices, he'll hurt me. I've seen what he's done to other girls before. "

"The fuck he will," Catherine said, "I won't let him do anything to you, I promise. Anyways, I'm a partner in this place and it's down to me to look after you all, so any problems he has I'll deal with them for you." She stood up. "So that's one sore pussy, some bruises and a bad cough," she ticked off an imaginary list, "I'll tell Doc so that he knows what he's coming into tomorrow. Ok, at the risk of sounding like Dan or Johnny, doors opening in ten minutes."

"Are you going to marry him?" Dolly's voice stopped her as she was about to leave the room.

Surprised, she turned back to the other girl. "What?"

"Well, are you?"

"Am I going to marry Doc?" Catherine asked, though she was well aware that wasn't who Dolly was referring to.

"Al."

"No, I'm not going to marry Al, and how the fuck did you come up with that crazy idea anyways?"

"Jewel told me," Dolly said.

"Jesus…" Catherine sighed, "I'll have to remind her what 'keep this to yourself' means. I ain't marrying him and that's the truth. I got no reason to."

"But if you married him," Dolly persisted, "then we wouldn't have to fuck him anymore."

"Dolly!" Kitty chastised.

"Well we wouldn't. You don't like it any more than I do, not really. He keeps going on about how we ain't doing it right, grabs our hair, throws us around…"

Catherine shuddered slightly at the insinuation that indeed it would be she doing the fucking if she became his wife. Though she felt sorry for those chosen by Al to satisfy his nightly needs, she was somewhat grateful she wasn't among the number. "I know," was all she said. What more could she say? It had been three days since Al had made her the offer of marriage and time had done nothing to make the idea more appealing to her.

Slipping out of the room, she made her way into the bar where Dan and Johnny were eating breakfast. As she approached the table, Jewel staggered over with her plate. "Breakfast," she declared, placing it down in front of her. "Just the way you like it."

"Thank you Jewel," Catherine replied, drawing out the other woman's name and glaring at her at the same time. If she noticed, however, Jewel chose not to comment and instead simply made her way back to the kitchen.

"You better not have told Kitty she don't have to fuck anyone," Dan said.

Catherine poured herself some coffee, "So what if I have. What's it to you anyways?"

"It ain't up to you to decide what the girls do. Kitty's popular. If they want to fuck her, she lets them."

"She's in pain. I've told her she can give hand jobs and suck prick for a few days until she feels better. You got a problem with that, you and I can take it outside right now."

Dan exchanged glances with Johnny. "You mean like, fight in the thoroughfare?"

"Why not? You scared you'd lose to a woman?" She looked at him innocently until a combination of confusion and embarrassment made him move away over to the bar and allow her to eat her breakfast in peace.

XXXX

"Where the fuck's Al?"

Catherine looked up from where she was wiping down the bar in time to see Trixie striding towards her. The afternoon was drawing to a close, there were only a few people left in the bar before the evening rush and she was keeping half an ear cocked towards Dolly's room given the size and inebriation of the man she was currently fucking. "Where he always is. In his office, no doubt plotting his next scheme with the boys." She lifted a nearby bottle. "Drink?"

"You have to fucking ask?" Trixie accepted the glass the other woman gave her. "The fucking Jew is giving me a fucking headache. Figures this, percentages that…reckon I was better off here turning tricks." She drained her glass and slid it back for another.

"Don't think that," Catherine said. "Learning how to do books has got to be better than lying on your back."

"Suppose," Trixie looked at her. "So…are we going to be hearing fucking wedding bells soon? Jewel told me Al asked you to marry him."

"For fuck's sake!" Catherine slammed the bottle down on the bar. "Does everybody know? Has she told everyone? Does Sol know? Bullock? Fucking Cy Tolliver? Is there anyone in camp that doesn't know? Perhaps I should go and see Merrick, get him to put a full page notice in the fucking paper!"

"That a no?"

"Of course it's a fucking no! Jesus…" she shook her head, then peered at the other woman. "Are you going to tell me that it's a good idea too?"

"Fuck no. Having had the pleasure of warming his bed I can't think of anything worse than having to legally lie there. But, for what it's worth, I don't reckon the Jew, Bullock or Tolliver know."

"Well thank God for that," Catherine replied sarcastically. She watched as Trixie climbed the stairs towards Al's office at the same time as Jewel emerged from the kitchen. "You!" She stormed around the bar and confronted her. "How many people have you told?"

"Bout what?" Jewel asked.

"You know exactly what I'm referring to!"

"I don't."

"I'm talking about Al asking me to marry him."

"Oh…" Jewel looked concerned, "Was it meant to be a secret?"

"Yes! Well, no, but…I just don't think it's the kind of thing you should be spreading around the camp. Folks might get the wrong impression, that's all."

"I only told the girls and Trixie."

"And it only takes one of them to tell one of their tricks and before you know it, everyone knows," Catherine sighed. "Just don't tell anyone else, ok?"

"Ok," Jewel agreed.

"I'm not marrying him, Jewel."

"Ok."

"I'm not."

"Ok! I'm crippled, not deaf."

"Well ain't you the one to be standing around doing fuck all!" Catherine looked up and saw Al leaning over the balcony watching her. "You, get back to work," he pointed to Jewel, "and you…get up here."

"A 'please' would be nice," she replied, though she acceded to his request and started to climb the stairs.

"He's needing his prick sucked," Trixie whispered as they passed in the corridor. "That's why he's grumpy."

Catherine ignored her and followed Al back into his office where he closed the door behind her with a bang. "I was in the middle of an important conversation with Jewel."

He turned to face her. "Did you tell Kitty she didn't have to fuck anybody?"

"I told her to give hand jobs and suck prick for a few days. Why do I feel as though I'm constantly repeating myself? She's in pain and…"

"I don't give a fuck if her snatch is stretched from here to California and back, she does not stop fucking, you understand me?"

"I'm not going to make her do something that's hurting her."

"You don't get to decide that!"

"I think you'll find I do!" she shot back. "I look after the girls here. I always have and…"

"Maybe when your daddy was around," Al said, moving closer to her, "but he's not here any more. You're under my roof, don't forget."

"I think you're forgetting that it's our roof. I own half this place and that means, I get to decide what I want to do with the girls and if I don't think Kitty's well enough to fuck, then she's not going to." He moved even closer to her, so much so that his body was almost pressed against her. She could feel her heart start to thump harder and faster in her chest, but there was no way that she was prepared to let him see she was intimidated.

"You might want to be careful Miss McCord," Al said, his tone quietly menacing. "I'm not sure I like your fucking tone."

"Why Mr Swearengen," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, "and only a few days ago you were asking for my hand." She held his gaze and stood her ground, though every instinct within told her to flee.

After a moment of tense silence, Al dismissed her. "Get…the fuck…out."

Managing a small smile of triumph, Catherine turned and walked to the door, keen to keep her step slow and careful. There was no way she wanted to let him see her run. She opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, closing the door behind her and letting out a long, shaky breath. It was unnerving, the effect that he had on her and with her father gone...

As the door closed behind her, Al smiled to himself. She might never admit it, but for all her bravado, inside she was afraid and that would be her downfall.

XXXX

As darkness fell on the camp, Catherine lifted her head from where she had been looking over the whisky order that was to be sent to Bismarck the following morning and rubbed her neck. It had been a long day. From inventorying the girls' complaints in readiness for Cochrane's visit, arguing with Dan and Jewel and then being somewhat physically threatened by Al, to having to wade in when Kitty's trick wouldn't take the phrase 'no fucking' for the meaning it had and then breaking up a fight between Dolly and Tina over money. She was grateful that the end of the day beckoned.

She waited for a convenient moment and then left her seat in a corner of the bar and made her way upstairs to lift her shawl from her room. The air still held a chill and, as refreshing as an evening constitutional could be, there seemed little point in being cold. As she came out of the room, she locked the door behind her and then came face to face with Al.

"Off to take in the air?" he enquired, leaning back against the banister and surveying her.

"Yes," she replied, pulling the shawl around her shoulders. Though she was still inside, she felt a sudden chill spread through her body. "I take it you haven't got an objection to that."

"Free to do as you please."

"Thank you." She moved past him and made her way down the stairs, turning briefly to toss back a barbed comment of no real importance or consequence, save to irritate him. "The whisky order looks fine by the way."

"Cunt," Al murmured as he watched her stride out of the Gem, her head high.

"Don't worry boss," Dan said, appearing beside him, "She'll get hers."

"Do I take from that comment that plans are afoot to bend her to my way of thinking?" Al replied.

Dan nodded. "It's all set. Tonight. When she walks back in here later, she ain't going to be so damn cocky no more."

"Good," Al said, "a little fright never hurt anybody, especially not a tight-assed cunt like her."

XXXX

It sometimes seemed as though Deadwood never slept. From the men who rolled in and out of the saloons at all hours of the day and night, to the wagons of newcomers that trundled down the main thoroughfare, it always seemed as though something was happening. Only in the very early hours, when she hadn't been able to sleep and had stood at her window watching the torches flicker, had Catherine ever seen the camp truly quiet.

This evening was little exception. It was still relatively early and many of the traders were still busy. She took her usual preferred route, down past the hardware store, round the back of the school, past the Ellsworth and Bullock homes and then along the lane adjacent to the Bella Union before returning back to the Gem. All told, it usually took her around half an hour depending on how quickly she walked and if she stopped to speak to anyone. As she walked this evening, however, she felt the first drops of a nightly rain shower and so decided to forgo the pleasurable head-clearing the walk always gave her and quickened her pace towards home.

She finally turned into the alley beside the Bella Union, the lights from the Gem shining just in front of her. As she walked towards it, she sensed something move in the shadows beside her. Pausing for the briefest of moments, she stopped and listened. Nothing but silence. A bird, perhaps, or a rat seeking food. Inwardly chastising herself for her stupidity, she kept walking when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her. She stopped and half turned, ready to confront whoever it was, when the left side of her face suddenly exploded with the full force of a right hook. Reeling, she felt herself being thrown into the side of the building. Her hands scrabbled uselessly to cling onto the wet wood but they failed and she felt herself fall to the ground. A swift kick followed. One to her body and then another to her head and everything went black.

XXXX

There were voices. Voices that she was sure she recognised, and yet they sounded all muffled and their words jumbled up. They didn't seem to be making any sense to her but when she tried to open her eyes to identify them, all she could see was darkness and all she could feel was pain.

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's Miss McCord!"

She was sure that she knew that voice, the gravely, southern tone and slight incoherent speech.

"My God, Miss McCord it's Charlie Utter. Can you hear me, ma'am?"

Charlie Utter. Of course. She tried to voice her assent, but no words came out.

"Should I get the Doc?"

She knew that voice too. Female, higher pitched, and as she managed to open her eyes for the briefest of seconds, she saw blonde hair and a hat with a train and knew that it was Joanie Stubbs from the Bella Union.

"Yeah, run and get the Doc and tell him to meet us at the Gem," Charlie was speaking again. "I'll get her there now. Miss McCord, can you move at all?"

She felt hands grip her arms and try to pull her to her feet. Her body felt so very heavy and though she wasn't intending to, she could feel that she was resisting him. She felt herself being pulled off of the ground and then sinking back again.

"I'm…uh…I'm just going to pick you up then," Charlie appeared to decide. "Hold on Miss McCord."

This time, she felt herself being lifted right off of the ground and, suddenly, she was weightless and the world was spinning past her and the lights were bright and she thought she was going to vomit.

XXXX

"I don't want to hear any more about fucking telegraph poles!" Al told Dan. "Nothing but fucking bad news."

"I don't know," Johnny said, scratching his head. "Means you can tell people things faster."

"And what fucking good is that? If I want to know that some piece of shit relative has died what's the point in me knowing…?"Al broke off mid sentence as the door of the Gem suddenly swung open and Charlie Utter suddenly appeared carrying someone in his arms. As he stumbled his way further inside, Al saw to his horror that it was Catherine. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

She was covered in mud, her dress was ripped at the shoulder and there was an ugly bruise already forming on the side of her face. He stepped forward as Charlie hobbled over to the nearest chair and gently sat her down in it. Catherine immediately slumped forward, her head falling onto her arms, her whole body shaking uncontrollably.

"Miss Stubbs and I found her lying down the alley next to the Bella Union," Charlie explained. "Didn't realise it was her at first til we got close. Looks like she's taken a beating." He moved out of the way as Al crouched down in front of Catherine and pulled her head up gently by the hair so that he could see her face. Tears streaked down through the mud patches and he could see that her left eye was starting to close up. The shaking continued and though it sounded like she was trying to talk, nothing intelligible was coming out of her mouth.

"Didn't see anyone hanging about or anything," Charlie continued, "Don't know how long she could have been lying there."

"Here," Johnny hurriedly slid a full whisky glass across the table towards her.

"She doesn't need a whisky, she needs the fucking doctor," Al growled.

"I sent Miss Stubbs to get the doctor," Charlie said, "he should be here any second I would imagine. I don't know…" he broke off as Catherine suddenly lurched to one side and vomited on the floor beside the table.

"Jesus Christ…" Without thinking further, Al got to his feet, hooked her body up into his arms and made for the stairs. "Send the fucking Doc up when he gets here!" he shouted back. "And get Trixie! Loopy cunt oughta be good for something!" When he reached Catherine's room, he awkwardly tried the handle only to find it locked. "Christ's sake…" he muttered before kicking it in, causing the door to slam back against the wall inside. He carried her to the bed, gently laid her down and was poised to move back away from her, when she grabbed the lapel of his jacket tightly in her hand.

"D….Don't…" she stuttered, unable to form a full sentence.

"It's all right," he told her, "you're fine. You're safe now." He prised her fingers away from his jacket only for her to take hold of his hand in a cold, vice-like grip, forcing him to sit down on the edge of the bed beside her. "You're home, you're fine…" he kept saying, wishing that Cochrane would hurry the fuck up.

"M…M…My f…face…"

"Catherine, don't try to talk." If she did, he wasn't quite sure what she would say. Had she seen who had attacked her? Who had in fact attacked her? And what the fuck had gone wrong?

The sound of hurried footsteps drew his attention and, seconds later, Cochrane appeared at the bedroom door. "What in the Lord's name…?" he exclaimed as he approached the bed.

Al managed to wrest his hand free from Catherine's grip and moved back towards the door. "Trixie's on her way, Doc. You…uh…you best do what you can for her."

"What the hell happened?" Cochrane asked, leaning over and pulling Catherine's eyelid up.

"Damned if I know," Al backed out of the door, almost bumping into Dan in the process. "You. In my office. Now." He grabbed the younger man by the shirt and practically dragged him along the corridor and through the office door. "What the fuck?" he spat, slamming the door behind Dan. "Did I or did I not give you specific, fucking instructions on what was to happen here? Did you listen to me or did you just hear me blowing hot air out my fucking ass?"

"You said you didn't want her raped, cut or otherwise seriously fucking injured," Dan recited the instructions, "and she ain't none of the above."

"No?" Al stepped towards him, "You don't think she's seriously fucking injured? Christ, have you even fucking looked at her?"

"She's got a swollen face is all! Jesus…" Dan stumbled back as Al hit him hard across the face. "I did what you fucking asked me to do!"

"I did not ask you to leave her in that fucking state! You said that she would walk back in here. You didn't say nothing about her having to be fucking carried by Charlie Utter like a sack of fucking mail!"

"Well, she must have…fought back or something, I don't know. Jesus Al…" Dan gingerly touched his cheekbone. "You said it was something she had brought on herself! You said you wanted this done!"

"I told you I wanted her shaken up a bit! Pushed around, frightened a little! But instead, you've had her beaten around the head and body and left for dead in a fucking ditch!" He pushed the other man roughly. "Who the fuck did it anyways?"

"You said you didn't want to know."

"Well maybe I do now!"

Dan paused, "Best you don't, boss. Keeps you above fucking board."

Al paused, knowing selfishly that Dan was right. Then he stormed around his desk, pulled open the bottom drawer and slammed a bottle of whisky down. Without offering the other man a glass he downed two of his own in quick succession before slamming it back into the drawer. "She better not fucking die, Dan," he warned.

"She ain't going to die."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. "Who the fuck is it?"

Cochrane's voice floated through the door, "It's me, Al."

"Come in." The door opened and Cochrane appeared. "How is she?"

"She'll live," he said, closing it behind him, "Trixie's helping her clean up and I've left her some laudanum for the pain. Gave her a dose which should see her sleep through the night. A day or two in bed and, physically, she should be good as new."

"Is she talking? Has she said anything about who it was?" Al asked, ignoring the look Dan was giving him.

Cochrane shook his head, "She's in shock. She can barely string a sentence together right now. Perhaps she might be more communicative tomorrow. I'd have Trixie stay with her tonight and I'll be back in the morning to check on her." He lifted his bag from the floor, "Assuming you don't need me for any other purpose, I'll bid you goodnight."

Dan waited until the door had closed behind him before speaking again, "See, I told you she'd be fine."

Al sighed heavily, "Get the fuck out, Dan." After he was alone, he drank another quarter of the whisky before curiosity, and a small sliver of guilt, got the better of him and he decided to check in on Catherine. Getting to his feet, he left the office and made his way to her room, knocking once and waiting. Moments later, Trixie opened the door. "How is she?"

"She's fucking sleeping," Trixie replied. She opened the door wider to allow him to see the bed and Catherine's prostrate form. "Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck happened?"

"I don't know."

"But you're going to find out, right? I mean, ain't as if someone's going to get away with doing this to her without you exacting revenge, is it?"

Al shook his head, "No."

"Good." Trixie paused as he hesitated. "You want to sit with her a while?"

"I ain't a fucking babysitter," he replied, before turning and walking away.


	5. Chapter 5

March 4th 1876

For a few moments when she wakened, Catherine had no idea where she was. Only being able to open one eye didn't exactly help and it took her a few moments to assimilate that she was in her own bedroom, with her own things round about her. The light was dull, indicating it was either early morning or late afternoon and there not being a clock in the room, meant she couldn't tell. As she tried to move, pain shot through her side and she let out a yelp, which in turn caused her to wince as more pain coursed through her head. Gingerly, she touched the side of her face and found it swollen and tender.

"Jesus…" she breathed. Slowly, and with great effort, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and reached for the hand held mirror that sat on the table beside the bed. Putting it in front of her face, she gasped at the sight of herself. Her left eye was almost completely closed up, and the left side of her face was puffy and red. Her bottom lip was split and various cuts and bruises danced over her skin. She unbuttoned the long flannel nightshirt she was wearing and saw that the side of her body was also blackened with bruises.

She put the mirror down, pushed the bedclothes off and slowly manoeuvred her legs around so that they were hanging off the side of the bed. Then, gripping onto the table for support, she slowly pulled herself to her feet. The moment she was upright, however, she felt the room swim around her and her head start to throb.

At that moment, the bedroom door opened and Trixie appeared holding a tray of food.

"What the fuck are you doing? Get back in bed!" She declared at the sight of her patient on her feet. "Jesus Christ, you can hardly stand." She dumped the tray onto the dresser and rushed over to grab Catherine's arm as she swayed dangerously.

"I'm…fine," Catherine said, as Trixie helped her sit back down on the bed.

"You are not fine. What the fuck are you thinking about trying to get out of bed? Christ Almighty you were almost killed. Have some fucking sense!"

"What time is it?"

"Almost five," Trixie helped her swing her legs back into the bed and pulled the covers back up around her. "That's better," she proclaimed, standing back. "It's good to see you awake anyways. Jewel made you something to eat in the hope that you might find yourself tempted."

"I ain't hungry."

"Well you should be, you ain't eaten anything in two days."

"Two days?" Catherine echoed. "What day is it?"

"Thursday." Trixie handed her a cup of coffee, "At least drink this." She watched as the other woman did as requested. "You were attacked Tuesday night. You remember anything about it?"

"Attacked?" Catherine shook her head. "Last thing I remember is going out walking. I don't know…I don't know what happened after that."

"Well you got fucked over good and proper. No," Trixie said quickly on her look, "Not that. But you sure as hell took a good few blows to the head. Johnny says Charlie Utter found you outside the Bella Union and came rushing in here carrying you in his arms. They all thought you were dying. You've been sleeping it off ever since. Doc says it'll just take a while for the swelling to go down and the bruises to heal but you should be fine."

"I feel like shit," Catherine said.

"Well it's hardly any fucking wonder. Oh and Bullock wants to talk to you too."

"Why?"

"Cause he's the Sheriff and he wants to find out who did this to you."

"I don't even remember it happening so I can't exactly tell him anything."

"I know, but he still wants to talk to you anyways." Trixie lifted the tray over from the dresser and laid it on the other side of the bed. "You sure you don't want to eat anything? Jewel's going to be mighty fucking disappointed if you don't."

Catherine put her hand against her throbbing head, unable to really care abut Jewel's disappointment. "I'm sure."

"Ok, well I'll leave it here anyways, in case you change your mind. Doc left you laudanum too for the pain," Trixie lifted a bottle of green liquid that was sitting on the bedside table. "If it's really hurting, you should take some."

"I might enjoy it too fucking much."

Trixie smiled, "You wouldn't be the fucking first now would you?"

Catherine smiled back, "I guess not."

"Try and get some more rest. I'll let everyone know you're back in the land of the living." She paused at the door. "Al's been awful concerned about you."

"I'm sure he has," Catherine replied dryly. "No doubt he's been waiting to see if I'm going to die so he can have my share in this place."

Trixie made a face, "If you say so. Last night he…" she broke off.

"Last night he what?"

"Nothing," Trixie said, thinking better of it at the last moment.

After she had left, Catherine had a few mouthfuls of the food Jewel had prepared, drank the remainder of the coffee and took a small amount of the laudanum. She had heard too many stories, and seen too many examples, of what could happen if a person became dependant on it, but almost immediately, she felt the pain begin to evaporate. Then she fell asleep and thought of nothing again until morning.

March 5th 1876

"She ate all her breakfast!" Jewel declared the following morning as she carried Catherine's empty tray back downstairs. Dan and Johnny, who were both reading the paper in the bar, looked up at her announcement. "The bacon and the eggs and the…"

"Yes, thank you Jewel," Dan interrupted. "Cause I know we were just all dying to hear about Catherine's eating habits this morning. She taken a shit yet? You seen that too?"

"Fuck you," Jewel replied, staggering into the kitchen. "And fuck you too," she tossed to Al who passed her on his way back into the bar.

"What the fuck's up with her?" he demanded.

"She's just pissed off cause Dan asked her if Catherine had taken a shit yet," Johnny replied.

"One might understand that," Al said.

"She said that Catherine ate all her breakfast," Dan said as Al turned eyes on him. "Guess she's starting to feel better."

"Guess so," Al said, casting his gaze up to her closed bedroom door.

"You talked to her yet?" Johnny asked.

"No."

"You sat with her last night though."

"And we're not going to talk about that, Johnny," Al replied, starting to climb the stairs.

"Why ain't we talking about it?" Johnny asked Dan.

"Cause he don't want Catherine to know that he was there, Johnny."

"Why not? Might make both of them less disposed to fucking fighting all the time."

"Johnny, just keep your fucking mouth closed, a' right?" Dan warned, watching his boss cross the balcony.

"All right," Johnny acquiesced, though he honestly didn't see the need for silence.

Al knocked on Catherine's bedroom door and waited for her to admit him entry. Though Cochrane had said that she was past needing watching through the night, he had taken it upon himself to venture into her room shortly before midnight with the intention of only staying a half hour or so. But he had found himself remaining as the hours ticked by watching her sleep peacefully, her chest rising and falling easily with the sedative effect of the laudanum, but her bruises still starkly visible in the soft lamp light. He had left just as dawn broke concluding that if she woke and found him watching her, she would only take it ill out. But now was the time to talk, to see what she remembered and to satisfy himself that she really was all right.

"Come in."

He pushed the door open and stepped into the room to see her sat up in the bed, resting back against pillows, that day's edition of the Pioneer lying across her. "Are you decent? May I approach the bed?" he asked.

She smiled slightly at his over-exaggerated chivalry, "Of course."

He closed the door behind him, walked over to the dresser and pulled the chair that sat there over to the side of the bed. "You know I had to boot that fucking door in, don't you?"

"I heard something like that," she replied. "Thank you."

"You owe me for the repair." He paused. "How you feeling?"

"I've felt better."

In the daylight, he took in the mess that was her face and tried not to think about those moments when the wounds would have been inflicted, "Well you look more pleasant on the eye than you did a few days ago." It was a lie, of course. If anything, he thought she looked worse. "And according to the gimp you ate all your breakfast, a fact which created the same joy inside her as a good stroke of a pussy usually does for a whore."

She decided not to berate him. "I guess Doc would say the first sign of improvement is a returning appetite and I was fucking ravenous when I woke up."

Al laughed, then paused and looked at her. "Cocksucker sure did a number on you, didn't he?"

She touched her face self-consciously. "I know I look a fucking mess. Guess I must have pissed somebody off without knowing it."

He looked down at a loose thread on the bedspread, deliberately avoiding her gaze. "You didn't see who it was then?"

Catherine shook her head, "I don't even remember it happening. I remember everything else about that day, dealing with the girls, arguing with Dan, arguing with you, leaving here but…try as I might, I can't fucking remember what happened in that alley." She winced suddenly.

"You in pain?"

"Hurts like a motherfucker. Could you put some more laudanum in that glass for me please?" She gestured to the bedside table and Al saw the half-empty bottle of green liquid sitting next to the water glass.

"You been drinking this?"

"Just a little to take the edge off. Thank you," she said, as he put a small amount into it and handed it to her.

"Don't you be getting a taste for this now," he warned her as she drank it down, "last thing I need is some fucking dope fiend running my whores."

She chose to call that one. "Your whores?"

"Our whores," he corrected himself.

"I hope you ain't been making Kitty fuck," Catherine said, placing the glass back on the table.

"Would I go against your strict instructions?" he asked mockingly.

"Yes you fucking would and I don't like seeing that girl in pain, especially when Doc's said she needs rest."

"Kitty's fine," he reassured her. "Strictly hand jobs and prick sucking for the last few days."

She stared at him, somewhat confused by the change in attitude. "Really? Cause the last time we spoke, I recall you ain't being so keen on that idea."

He coughed uncomfortably. "Well let's just say I did it as a favour to you in your incapacitation. Besides, I ain't never seen whores as worried as that lot down there have been since you got attacked. I believe they may really have hearts." He meant it as a joke, but her face clouded over.

"And yet not one of them has visited me since I've been awake," she looked at him, her expression holding a clear implication that he had prevented it.

"You ain't been well enough to receive visitors."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Fucking doctor now, are you? I'm well enough now and I want to see them to make sure they're all right."

"Fine, I'll send them up in groups of three then, shall I?" he suggested, the old irritation at her resurfacing. "Then you can swap stories about the latest fashions from New York and what they all want for Christmas this year and what cunt lotion is the best to manage chaffing!"

"Jesus, just when I think it's possible to have a fucking normal, decent conversation with you, you go and spoil it all by reverting to your usual, fucking, cocksucker self! Christ, my head…" She pressed both sets of fingers to her temples and closed her eyes as pain shot through her.

"I go and spoil it? You started it! Drink your fucking dope then," he lifted the bottle and tossed it onto the bed. "And perhaps when you're feeling more like it, you can put a half decent face on, come downstairs and earn your fucking keep."

"My fucking keep?" she echoed, "I own half this fucking place!"

"Only because of my good fucking grace!" he retorted, throwing open the door, "and don't you fucking forget it!"

"Your good…" he slammed the door before she could finish. "Well fuck you then!"

Al stormed along the balcony and down the stairs, just as Trixie walked up. "Cunt!"

She glared at him. "What the fuck…?"

"Not you, her!" he pointed back at the door to Catherine's room. "Blow to the head she may have taken but it certainly ain't made her personality any more affable that's for fucking sure!"

"You tell her you sat with her last night?" Trixie asked as he stormed over to the bar.

"No," he replied, "and I won't be doing it again that's for fucking sure! Cunt can die in her fucking sleep for all I care!" The last sentence shouted loudly and aimed at Catherine's door.

Trixie paused at the bedroom door and smiled at the muffled reply, "She says 'go fuck yourself.'"

XXXX

"Sheriff, I know you're only doing your job but I really don't remember anything." Catherine lay with her eyes closed and her hand over her forehead, trying to block out the pain that refused to go away. It was early evening and after sleeping for most of the day, she had woken with the same throb. "I didn't see anyone. I don't know anything…" she sighed. "I wish I could be of more help, but I can't."

Seth smiled at her sympathetically. "I know it's difficult, Miss McCord, but I don't want someone capable of doing this walking around this camp. So anything you might know…"

"There's nothing," she insisted. "I ain't had words with anyone or even know of anyone who would have cause to harm me, really I don't." She opened her eyes. "I don't want whoever it was to get away with it so it wouldn't exactly be in my interests to lie to you now, would it?"

He shook his head, "Well if you can't think of anyone who would want to hurt you…"

"I can't."

"Then it must be a random attack and that worries me more. The camp's expanding with more and more people arriving every day. If there's a dangerous element here, I need to find it."

"You sound like Farnum," Catherine said. "In fact…you should talk to Farnum."

Seth wrinkled his nose at the prospect. "You think he might know something?"

"Well, I ain't really sure how much Mr Farnum knows of anything but at Daddy's funeral he was talking about how dangerous the camp had become and he mentioned that another woman had recently been attacked."

Seth frowned, "When was this?"

"A few days ago? He didn't give a lot of details and I weren't exactly paying him attention, but he did tell me that a woman had been attacked and robbed near Chinks alley. I wasn't robbed but…perhaps it might be the same person?"

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Seth asked, getting to his feet, his tone growing angry. "I'm so fucking sick of…" he stopped, sensing the inappropriateness of his behaviour and how his problems with Swearengen really didn't concern her. "My apologies. That ain't your problem."

Catherine shook her head, "I don't know why you weren't told. I assumed you would know. Farnum seemed very clear on the details and though he ain't someone that I regularly would care to listen to..."

Seth moved towards the bedroom door, "Thank you Miss McCord, I'll see what I can do. If anything does come back to you…"

"You'll be the first to know, I promise." He left, closing the door behind him, and she decided that she was going to try and get out of bed. Lying there, being waited on hand and foot, wasn't exactly something she was used to and her earlier argument with Al had annoyed her more than she could verbalise. She manoeuvred herself to the edge of the bed and stood up. Dizziness swept over her, but she fought through it until she was able to maintain some stability and, with the aid of the walls, stumbled her way over to the small pine closet in the corner. She pulled out a dress and tossed it onto the bed before making the same journey back around the walls, across the bed to the dresser where she washed herself.

The actions exhausted her and she had to sit down for a few moments on the bed to regain herself before she was able to dress. It was a long, laborious process but finally, washed, dressed and a brush run through her hair, she felt ready to leave her room.

The first person she saw when she opened her door was Kitty lounging over the balcony. The other girl turned at the sound of her footsteps and her eyes widened in shock. "Catherine. Fuck, what are you doing?"

"Getting back to some fucking work," Catherine replied, "You all right?"

"Fine but…you sure you should be up and about? I mean, you look…"

"Like shit?"

"No, but…"

"You don't have to lie, Kitty," Catherine patted her shoulder. "I'm just going to go down to the bar and see what's going on, that's all." Even as she looked over the balcony, she could feel the earth shifting underneath her. Holding onto the railing, she slowly walked to the top of the stairs and began her descent.

Charlie Utter was the first person to notice her and, downing his shot, he hurried over to take her arm. "Miss McCord!"

"Thank you Mr Utter," she said, accepting his help gratefully.

"You're looking…" he paused, clearly trying to think of something complimentary to say. "Better."

"I'm flattered, really, but I'm under no illusions how I look." She let him lead her over to a vacant table and help her to sit. "I owe you thanks for what you did."

"Oh, well…" he looked embarrassed. "Anyone else would have done the same."

"I disagree. I'm sure many a person would have simply walked on. I'm indebted to you, and to Miss Stubbs, for what you did. If you happen to see her, give her my thanks. I would visit the Bella Union myself but…this journey is about all I can manage at the moment."

"I'll tell her," he said. "You…uh…you want a drink?"

She nodded. "A little shot of whisky would go down a treat, thank you." He disappeared over to the bar and she cast her eye around while she waited. A few of the men glanced in her direction but most were more interested in drinking or eyeing up the whores to really care. Glancing up, she saw Kitty still leaning over the balcony, watching her intently, and she gave her a smile to indicate that she was all right.

"There you are," Charlie placed a glass in front of her.

"Thank you," she replied, drinking the whisky down, oblivious to Dan hurrying past her up the stairs.

XXXX

Al tried to hold his patience, but with each passing moment, it became more and more difficult. He downed his third shot and poured another to steel himself for more.

"I was most wrong-footed, Al," Farnum declared, walking back and forth incessantly in front of the other man's desk. "When Bullock came to the hotel and asked me about that other woman…I was most wrong-footed."

"So you said, E.B."

"I didn't know what to say."

"You clearly managed to invent something."

"Well I had to tell him that it was a tale I had been told by Richardson."

"You blamed that half-wit?" Al shook his head. "E.B….for shame."

"I had no other choice, Al," Farnum declared. "The way that man looked at me…"

"Richardson?"

"Bullock. The man looks right through you, Al. I was most wrong-footed. If you wish me to continue along this path of deception with Miss Catherine…"

"I don't," he cut him off. "You're off the hook, E.B. This time."

"Oh…" Farnum's curiosity was piqued. "May I enquire as to the reasoning for your change of heart?"

Al was about to tell him that, no, he may not when the door opened and Dan appeared. "Catherine's downstairs," he told him. "She's talking to Utter." Al lifted his full glass, stood up and stepped out of his office onto the balcony. Kitty was still standing there but she scuttled away towards the stairs at his arrival. "You want me to try and convince her to go back to bed?" Dan asked.

Al looked down to where was Catherine was sitting opposite Charlie. As she lifted a glass to her lips, she looked up and caught his eye. She paused, mid-action, and he observed a look of hesitation mixed with defiance cross her swollen features. He had to admire her determination. He lifted his own glass in greeting and watched as she drained hers before choosing to completely ignore him and resume her conversation with her heroic companion.

"No," he replied, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Leave her be."


	6. Chapter 6

March 12th 1876

Catherine winced slightly as Cochrane pressed down on her cheekbone, a response which she tried to hide, but couldn't.

He pulled back and looked at her. "That still hurts?"

"A bit," she replied, irritated at herself for giving away the fact that she remained affected, in any way, by the incident that had taken place over a week earlier. "Nowhere near as badly as before though."

He leaned further back and surveyed her full face. "Swelling's gone right down and your bruises have healed…save for that little bit of tenderness you're complaining about…"

"I wasn't complaining," she said quickly.

"…I'd say you're as good as new." He ignored her last remark. "Now, I offer this with some hesitation but…you want some more laudanum?"

"No," she shook her head. "I thank you for it in the early days but I've no more need of it. My head only hurts occasionally."

"I can give you some powders for that," Cochrane said, moving away to his bag. "You can get Jewel to brew it in a tea for you and it should sort you right out. But don't take too much too often." He handed her a small package. "If you need any more, please come back. My door is always open."

"I will, Doc, thank you." She got to her feet and slipped the package into her velvet purse. "If you would simply add the cost of my care to this month's bill, I'd be most grateful." He nodded his acquiescence and she bid him good day before heading out of the dark, claustrophobic home and business he kept, back into the busy Deadwood streets.

Daylight found her freely walking the camp, enjoying the respite the cool air and sunshine gave her from the smell of sex, sweat and liquor that permeated the Gem. But after night fell she remained resolutely inside, fearful of what, or who, lay waiting in the darkness. Despite Bullock's persistence, there had been no advance on discovering who her attacker had been and though she hid it as best she could, it worried her to think that whoever had seen fit to hurt her that night was potentially still out there in the camp, maybe even watching her right now.

Lost in thought as she was, thinking about the very prospect, meant that her eye wasn't on where she was going and a stray chicken, no doubt on an escape mission from Wu and his workers, suddenly appeared in her path, causing her to start and stumble. The bird sqwaked in indignation at almost being trampled and rushed up past her head causing her to turn sharply to protect her face. It was then that she noticed Silas standing a few feet behind her to her left.

"Silas?" Though her voice carried easily, he seemed to pretend not to hear her and turned somewhat instinctively to the person standing next to him, who just happened to be one of Wu's Chink workers. She tried again. "Silas!"

This time, he turned towards the sound of her voice, and made as if to recognise her for only the first time. "Catherine." He bid his conversation partner a farewell and walked towards her. "Fine morning isn't it?"

"Are you…following me?" She peered at him.

"No," he replied unconvincingly. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, the fact that you're lurking behind me and…talking to a Chink who I'm pretty fucking sure you can't understand nor can understand you." She watched as the Chink in question scuttled away into the anonymity of a nearby alley. "Are you following me?"

He looked uncomfortable and as if he was about to lie again, but the expression on her face clearly made him change his mind. "All right, yes I am," he agreed. "Though I clearly ain't making a good fucking job of it."

"Clearly," Catherine replied curtly. "Did you follow me from the Gem this morning?"

He nodded. "But it's only been today. Johnny's been doing it the last while."

"Johnny?" She exclaimed incredulously, "Well quite aside from fucking congratulations being in order for his discretion, why they hell are any of you following me?" He didn't answer right away and she narrowed her eyes. "Did Al ask you to do this?"

"No…"

"Silas!"

"Jesus…" he sighed. "He said he wanted an eye kept on you. Make sure you were ok moving about the camp."

"Well isn't that touching?" Catherine replied sarcastically. "For a man who's spent most of my life reminding himself, and me, why he despises me so much, this sudden concern is mighty fucking interesting."

"He don't despise you."

"Silas, I've been called a tight-assed bitch by that man more times than I care to remember, not to mention been threatened with the back of his hand. Then ever since Daddy died, he made me that fucking ridiculous offer of marriage and I got attacked, he's been oddly pleasant to me. There's something going on here, I just can't figure out what it is. But I tell you this much, I fully fucking intend to." With a look of determination, she swung around again and started walking smartly back the path she had earlier trod towards home.

"Hold on!" Silas said, falling into step beside her. "Don't be so fucking hasty."

"Why not? You worried Al might slit my throat as punishment for my impertinence?"

"No, I'm worried you might slit his throat and then mine."

"Very fucking funny."

"Look," he grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. "I admit it does seem…a little odd that he'd be so concerned given the usual nature of your relationship but maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe he's changing towards you. Maybe, what with Travis dying and all, he really is trying to look out for you now."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Catherine said, shaking her head, "He's got you completely fucking charmed. Once the independent bagman from Yankton, throwing himself to the highest bidder, now the latest in a long line of Al Swearengen's lap dogs." She yanked her arm free from his grip. "You don't know him like I do. Don't worry, I won't let on you broke under my rigorous interrogation." Without allowing him a further word, she continued on her mission. When she strode back into the Gem minutes later, she found custom slow and Dan standing aimlessly at the bar cleaning his knife. "Where's Al?" she demanded.

"Upstairs in the office," he replied. "He's with Dolly!" he called after her as she took the stairs.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she swore under her breath as she neared the door of his office. From behind it, she could hear muffled sounds but took the sensible decision not to stand too close lest she might hear something she cared not to. Two minutes, then three passed with no sign of movement from within. "How long have they been in there?" she called over the balcony.

"I don't fucking time him!" Dan replied, looking at her as though she was crazy.

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, when the door suddenly opened and Dolly came out of the room, wiping her mouth. When she saw the other woman, she shot her a shame-faced look and lowered her eyes to the floor. "No need for embarrassment Dolly," Catherine said. The other woman hurried off and she waited a respectful ten seconds to allow Al time to re-adjust himself, before knocking sharply on the door and throwing it open.

"Come right in, why don't you?" Al declared upon her entrance. "Don't mind if I tidy myself up do you?" She averted her eyes as he finished buttoning up his long johns.

"I didn't want to disturb you mid…" she fought for the right word, "suck."

"All part of nature. Where in the world would man be without a willing woman to put in her mouth, the same organ that a man urinates from? Won't you be seated?" he gestured to the chair in front of her which she accepted. "Everything go all right at Doc's?"

"Fine."

"Good."

"In fact, my day was going very well until, would you believe, I happened to notice none other than Silas following me in the shadows like some sort of gutter rat." She fixed him a look. "I think we both know under who's orders that was."

"Maybe he's sweet on you," Al replied, reaching into his desk and pulling out a bottle and two glasses. "Now that you can see your face again, it's not out with the bounds of possibilities that the man finds you handsome enough to want to follow."

"Please," she rolled her eyes. "He's like a brother to me. I certainly ain't got no inclinations in that department and neither does he. I know that you told him to follow me and I know that Johnny was doing it before him."

"Did a better job, obviously, as you ain't been in here before now demanding explanations."

"Al…"

"Drink?" he poured her a glass and slid it towards her.

"I must say I'm mighty curious about all of this sudden consideration," she said, taking it and draining it. "Not two weeks ago you were threatening me in this very office and now you've got your minions tailing me like I'm your most precious possession."

"Think of it as me fulfilling the promise I made to your father," Al replied gravely.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?"

"Admit it," she leaned forward, "you can't fucking stand me, can you?"

"Now that ain't true…"

"Course it is. You couldn't stand me before Daddy died and you sure as hell can't stand me now seeing as I won't sell you my share or give you my hand." She stood up. "For your information, Al, I can take care of myself and I do not need to be followed."

He sat back in his chair and lifted his own glass. "It ain't escaped my notice, you know, that you ain't left this joint after dark since your attack. Not even once."

"So?"

He cocked his head on one side and looked at her, "You're afraid."

"I ain't afraid," she replied sharply, sending the empty glass spinning back across the desk at him. "There's a difference between being cautious and being afraid. I'm being cautious."

"You got no need to be afraid."

"I ain't afraid," she repeated, declining to take him up on his meaning. "Even if that son-of-a-bitch hasn't been caught yet…I ain't afraid. Anyone who says different can go fuck themselves, including you."

"You know, for someone who's been the beneficiary of my goodwill of late, including my diverting my employees away from other business to oversee your safety, your attitude leaves a fucking bad taste in my mouth," Al said, rising from his seat and coming around the desk towards her.

"Well call me crazy but you wouldn't be Al Swearengen if there wasn't something in all of this for yourself," she glared at him as she opened the office door. "Some devious little plot that you and the boys have collaborated on to force me into something I don't want!"

"Something like what?" he demanded, advancing on her to the point where he was mere inches away from her.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied sarcastically, squaring up to him. "What do you think I could possibly…" the sudden loud sound of gunfire and a bullet hitting the wall mere feet away from them caused her to yelp with fright and instinctively step into him, whereby she felt his arms close around her.

"What the…?" Al moved onto the balcony, taking her with him, and glared down at where Johnny was standing, a revolver in his hand and a mournful expression on his face.

"It's all right!" He shouted up to them. "Just an accident, boss. I was just cleaning it and it went off suddenly. No cause for alarm!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Johnny!" Al shouted in response. "Notwithstanding the fact you could have killed one of us, I do not want any more fucking bullet holes in my fucking joint!"

"Sure," Johnny replied, his gaze flicking between them. "Sorry."

As her heartbeat slowed, Catherine realised that she was still in Al's arms, her fingers gripping onto his jacket so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She stared at them, knowing that she should let go and yet seemingly unable to compute the thought from her brain to her hands. When she looked up into her eyes, she saw him watching her with the very same concern she had denied to Silas that he felt.

"Hear that? Just an accident." He spoke first, for she found she couldn't. She nodded. She felt his hands move across her back and down to her hips. "Thought you weren't afraid?"

"I'm not," she replied, though her voice sounded high and reedy. "I just…it was the shock, that's all." Slowly, she released her grip and made to step back, only to find the pressure of his hands preventing it. "You can let me go now, thank you."

Al lifted his hands from her body and she automatically stepped back. She wasn't sure what to say, so she elected to say nothing. Instead, she turned and hurried along the balcony to her room, only remembering to breathe once the door was closed and locked behind her.

XXXX

"You look tired," Jewel said later that evening as Catherine helped her to clear up in the kitchen. She had made her presence felt in the bar as usual, conversed with men she knew and some she didn't. But the noise from the piano and the loud, bawdy cries and laughter of the patrons had started to give her a headache, so she had retreated to the kitchen where it was quieter.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"You sure you're better?"

"I'm sure."

"Cause you look…"

"Fucking leave it, Jewel, all right?" she snapped, slamming a plate down on the counter. "I ain't in the mood."

"All right."

They worked alongside each other in silence for a while, but it was only when Catherine realised that she had been drying the same cup for the past five minutes that she put it down and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Jewel, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that…"

"There you are," Al suddenly appeared at the door. "Gentleman in the bar asking after you."

"Asking after me?" Catherine repeated. He nodded. "Who?"

"Harry Manning."

"What does he want?"

"Wants to talk to you, apparently. Sitting over by the door looking like a lost fucking soul come to find salvation," Al mocked. She stepped over beside him and followed his gaze to the far end of the room where Harry was indeed sitting near the door, nursing two glasses of whisky.

"Well what does he want to talk about?"

"How the fuck should I know? Go and ask him." He grabbed her arm as she prepared to walk past him. "Remember, it's five dollars. Seven if he wants to ass-fuck you."

"Fuck you," she replied, pulling her arm free and crossing the floor along the side of the bar to where Harry was waiting. As he saw her approaching the table, he got to his feet. "Mr Manning," she greeted him.

"Miss McCord," he said, smiling. "Can you sit down? Do you have time?"

"Oh…uh…of course," she took the seat opposite him and waited for him to continue.

"I got you a drink," he gestured to the full glass of whisky in front of her. "I hope that's all right."

"That's…very kind, thank you," she replied. As she lifted and drained it, she saw Dolly out of the corner of her eye talking to a large man in the corner. As she watched them, she heard Harry say something but didn't catch what it was. "I'm sorry Mr Manning, what was that you said?"

"Oh I…I asked how much it was to talk to you," he repeated.

"Nothing," she replied. "I ain't a whore, Mr Manning, my time ain't for sale."

He suddenly looked embarrassed, "Oh no, no, no! I wasn't…I mean I wasn't suggesting that you were a…I just wasn't sure."

"Don't worry about it," she reassured him, watching as the man with Dolly started stroking her hair and rubbing her tits. "You ain't the first to ask and I doubt you'll be the last."

"It's just that…well…Mr Nuttal said that you were looking better and I thought you might be up for talking."

She pulled her gaze away from Dolly and looked at him. "Is there something specific you want to talk about?"

"Oh no…no not really…I mean…" Harry stuttered. "I mean it was just that…well you know, what with what happened to you and all I…did Sheriff Bullock…did he find whoever it was?"

"No," Catherine replied. "Though I'm sure he tried his best. Whoever it was could have left the camp right away for all any of us know." Her attention was drawn again to Dolly as the man pressed her back against the wall and seemed to be whispering something in her ear. The whore was smiling, but experience had taught her it was the fake kind, used to lull the unsuspecting male into believing that his advances really were wanted and welcomed beyond the limits of him paying for a fuck. As she continued to watch, the man started to move towards one of the room, holding Dolly firmly by the wrist and pulling her along with him.

"I…uh…I asked around but…but no-one knew anything."

She turned back to Harry. "You asked around?"

He nodded and smiled awkwardly, "Just to see if I could…you know…maybe help."

"That's very kind of you, Mr Manning," she said, patting his hand across the table. "I appreciate that very much." In the dim light she could see his face redden and she pulled her hand back quickly lest he form the wrong impression.

"Would you…would you like another drink?" he asked.

"I would, very much," she said, "and while you're getting it, would you excuse me for a brief moment?"

"Of course," he said, getting to his feet.

She walked away from the table, crossing the bar slowly, lest she create any kind of interest in herself, and headed towards the room where she had seen the man take Dolly. There was just something…something in the way he had looked and the way Dolly had reacted that made her uneasy. As she reached the door, she listened for noise and at first heard nothing over the piano and raucous voices from within the bar. Then she heard it, quiet at first, but increasing in volume. Dolly was crying out, and if it was from passion, it was like no passion she had ever heard before.

"Dolly?" she rattled the door handle, knowing the door would be locked. "Dolly, everything all right in there?" She kept her voice as neutral as possible, lest there really was no concern and a paying customer took his annoyance at being disturbed to Al.

For a moment, there was silence and then a scream.

"Dolly?" she started banging on the door. "Dolly, can you hear me?" Dolly screamed again, in the unmistakable tone of someone in terror. "Dolly!" She twisted the door handle and shook it viciously, but the lock held. "Dan!" she called out across the bar to where she had last seen him standing but he had gone. "Jesus…" she started kicking the door as Dolly screamed again and, on the third try, it gave way, swinging suddenly inwards.

To her shock, the gentleman in question had Dolly up against the far wall, his hands around her throat, squeezing the air out of her while she tried in vain to slap him away.

"Get the fuck off her!" Catherine yelled, rushing forwards and grabbing his arm in an attempt to free the other woman. Barely breaking a sweat, he merely half-turned and pushed her violently away from him so that she stumbled across the room, hitting her back against the opposite wall. As she slid down it onto the floor, the breath momentarily knocked out of her lungs, she had a sudden flash of that night. Walking in the alley, the footsteps and the explosion of pain in her body. The pleasure and satisfaction that someone had gotten out of hurting her. Then she heard Al's voice in her head, mocking her, telling her that she was afraid. Well no, she wouldn't be. Not now, not ever.

Scrabbling under her dress, her fingers closed around the blade she had secreted there that morning, like every morning since. Pulling it from the lining, she got to her feet, rushed back across the room and thrust it hard into the back of Dolly's attacker.

He let out a howl of pain and immediately released her, his hands twisting around to try and reach the offending article. With a flourish, Catherine pulled it out again, almost shocked to see the blade turn a dark red. He rounded on her, his face red, his mouth open, his eyes wide and, for a moment, she thought he was going to come for her. But instead, he rushed towards the door of the room and down the corridor towards the back entrance, just as Dan appeared at the door.

"What the fuck…?"

"Get her out of here," Catherine said, barely audible over Dolly's sobs.

He looked at the knife in her hand. "But what…?"

"Just fucking do it, Dan!" she screamed at him.

"All right, all right…" he held out his arm for Dolly and she hurried over to him. As he led her, sobbing from the room, Catherine sank down into one of the chairs in the corner, her whole body shaking, the room dancing in front of her eyes, the bloodied knife slipping from her fingers onto the floor. Though she could still hear the piano and the voices of those who had no inkling of what had taken place, they all sounded distant in comparison to her own laboured breathing and pounding heart.

A shadow crossed the threshold, causing her to start, and she looked up to see Al framed in the doorway. An imperceptible look of relief moved fleetingly across his face, so quickly that she thought she might have imagined it.

"Well…" he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, "you ain't having a very lucky month, are you? Reckon we oughta put some sort of fucking sign above your head warning newcomers of the dangers of associating with you."

She tried to let out a laugh but it manifested itself as a sob instead and hot tears began streaming down her cheeks. Embarrassed at her weakness, she wiped her face viciously and turned away from him, waiting for the barbed remark, the sarcastic comment, the put-down. None of them came.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"Look at me then."

"No," she replied, turning further away.

"Look at me!"

"No!"

"Jesus fucking Christ…" he crossed the space between them, crouched down in front of her and yanked her face round to his. To his relief, there wasn't a mark on her, save the tracks of her tears. He traced his thumb over her sensitive cheekbone, causing her to flinch. "What the fuck happened? Dan started hollering about Dolly being hurt and you gutting some paying customer."

"I heard…I heard Dolly scream so I…" she gestured at the door. "He wouldn't let go…he was hurting her so I…"

"Did he hit you?"

She shook her head, "Pushed me against the wall. I thought…for a moment that he might after I…" she broke off and looked down at the weapon on the floor.

"How long you been carrying that?" he asked, following her gaze.

"Since that night."

"Ain't a good idea," he said, lifting it from the floor and placing it on the shelf above her head. "Liable to do yourself more damage than anyone else."

"Not this time," she said. "Do you think I killed him?"

"Doubtful. Johnny said he ran past him out the back clutching himself and yelling. He'll find his way to Doc's and get himself seen to." His other hand remained against her cheek, warm and comforting and he felt her turn her face into it, her breath warm on his palm. He let her go suddenly, causing her to jerk forwards. "Anyways, Dolly's going to live to see another day." He straightened up and wandered away from her over to the other side of the room. "She was lucky you were so fucking vigilant."

"Well if I'd left it to Johnny or Dan we'd be cleaning up her blood and preparing her body for burial," Catherine said bitterly, the momentary feeling of comfort vanishing instantly. "What do the girls have to do to get some fucking protection in this place?" He turned back to face her. "What does anyone have to do to get some fucking protection in this camp?" Realising what she had said, that she had let out the fears she had vowed to renounce, she turned away again. "As long as she's alive, I guess that's all that matters."

"You are afraid." She shook her head in disagreement. "You were afraid this morning when that gun went off and you're afraid now."

"No."

"You leapt into my arms as though you yourself had been shot."

"I did not leap…"

"Ain't nothing wrong with fear, Cathy. In fact, I might think you stranger still if you didn't have it after what you been through. But the only way to conquer a fear is to admit to it and face it head fucking on, not pretend like it don't exist."

"Ain't that what I just did?"

"No, you just stabbed someone. That ain't what I meant."

She laughed shortly, "The gospel according to Saint Al? Maybe I should have fucking married you after all."

"Offer still stands."

"And what would you have done differently?" she asked, looking at him. "I'm fucking dying to know. If the same thing had happened, and I'd been your wife instead of your…whatever…tell me, what would you have done differently Al?"

"Well that's easy. I'd have killed him."

The words were out before he had even really thought about them and he saw the look of bewilderment cross her face. For what seemed like hours, but was in reality mere seconds, they stared at each other, neither one knowing what more to say. She had posed the question, seeking an honest answer, and he had answered it so. But the question asked and the answer given, opened doors to thoughts that had never been considered before and with which neither knew what to do.

"Al?" The door flew open again and Johnny appeared, the action causing both of them to jump slightly as they were pulled back from that moment of mutual confusion. "Doc's here to look at Dolly. I told him Catherine might be hurt and he said he'd see to her too."

"Fine," Al replied as Catherine nodded in agreement. "Tell him to come in here when he's done upstairs." He looked at her a final time and then moved past Johnny out of the room and walked down the corridor towards the saloon's back exit, as though planning to leave.

"Reckon we oughta find the guy and shut him up?" Johnny asked, following him.

"Give me a minute, Johnny."

"Yeah but…"

"One fucking minute!" Knowing better than to argue further, Johnny nodded and hurried away back in the direction he had come from. "Fuck!" Al swore softly to himself as he wandered up and down the corridor, trying to dislodge her image from his mind and the murderous feeling of revenge. Having her hurt by an instrument of his own hand was something he regretted but could live with. Having her hurt by someone else was an altogether different fucking story.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. There was no way he could see anyone, do anything, until he had gotten rid of the raging hard-on that had started building the moment he had touched her.


	7. Chapter 7

March 13th 1876

"You know she's a fucking pain in the ass, don't you? Oh, I mean I know she's good to you whores and treats you like she would her own fucking sisters but she's got this…this really fucking annoying way of just…just looking at you and making you want to strangle her. The way she struts about in here, coming into my office demanding this and demanding that…the fucking lack of respect. But then she looks at me like she did yesterday all fucking….vulnerable and shit and makes me want to…do you know what I mean? Course you fucking don't. I've known her all her fucking life since she was just a baby in her mother's arms and now, now…Jesus!"

Al yelped in sudden pain and yanked Kitty's head up by her hair from where she had been gamely attempting to pleasure him.

"Watch your fucking teeth! I want it sucked not bitten the fuck off!"

He pushed her back down again.

"I mean, what the fuck does she want from me? What's she trying to achieve with that attitude and those eyes and that way she has of…looking at me? And what the fuck am I thinking not giving her a good fucking slap? I should have thrown her over that fucking balcony yesterday when that gun went off rather than hold her in my fucking arms. And then sticking that hooplehead…she could have got herself fucking killed and there's me, fucking relieved that I didn't walk in there to find her in a pool of blood and thinking about how much I'd like to…fuck…" he gripped Kitty's hair tighter as he felt the first spasm of orgasm sear through him. It didn't last long, mere seconds in fact, before he was pushing her away from him and buttoning up his long johns. "Get out."

They always left quickly and without complaint. He knew it was the best part of the act for them, the leaving after. He wasn't stupid enough to think that any of the whores enjoyed what he made them do. It was just another prick to them, only his was the prick that ensured they had a roof over their heads and food in their mouths, among other things. It wasn't as though some of them weren't pretty to look at. Dolly had a nice smile when she didn't look afraid. But for Al, it wasn't about attraction or emotion and it especially wasn't about anything close to love. They were his whores and they would do whatever he damn well asked. And a man needed relief every now and then.

After Kitty had left, he took his time getting dressed, watching out the window as the camp came to life and convincing himself that his diatribe about Catherine had been merely a release of his inner frustrations and not a sign that he viewed her sexually in any way whatsoever. He wondered sometimes if the whores talked about what he said during these encounters and if Kitty would scurry back to their common room and relay all. Not that he cared.

Just as he was finishing pissing, there was a knock on the office door. "Yeah!"

"Morning boss," Dan said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. "Bullock's downstairs looking for you."

"Just the words I were hoping would come out of your mouth this morning, Dan," Al replied, buttoning his pants. "You seen Cathy at all today?"

"Saw her downstairs earlier with Jewel."

"How did she seem?"

"Quiet. Reckon she's thinking about what happened last night."

"Understandably," he mused. "Keep a watchful eye on her today, though not so as she'd notice, and advise me immediately if there's anything of concern."

"She won't like that."

"I said, not so as she'd notice," Al repeated. "And I don't fucking care what she would or wouldn't like. The last thing we need is her taking some attack of conscience and declaring to the whole town that she knifed some cocksucker in the back." He put on his jacket. "Meanwhile, I shall attend to our sheriff's needs." Opening the office door, he made his way along the balcony and down the stairs to where Seth was waiting by the bar.

"Sheriff," he greeted him with false camaraderie. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Seth ignored the mocking tone. "I understand there was an incident here last night."

"Not sure I know to what you're referring."

"Don't take me for a fucking idiot. I know someone got stabbed in the back in here last night and, moreover, I know Miss McCord is responsible."

Al folded his arms across his chest, "If you mean the cocksucker who was trying to strangle one of my whores at the time then yes, she did, and all congratulations to her for so doing."

"The whore all right?"

"Battered and bruised but no worse for fucking wear."

"What about Miss McCord?"

"As you might expect. Not being the violent type herself she's taken her actions very much to heart."

Seth cast his gaze around the bar looking for sight of her, "I need to talk to her."

"She ain't really one for talking about it."

"It ain't a fucking request. It's a fucking order as lawman of this camp."

"Why the urgency?"

"Because the cocksucker in question is dead." Seth nodded as Al stared at him. "Me and my partner found him lying up against the door of our store this morning. Cochrane pronounced and some direct and focused questioning of the locals led me here."

"Fuck."

"Fuck is right. Now I need to talk to her."

"You understand I hope…that her actions thus committed, were done out of protection for my whore."

"My understanding'll come once I've talked to her."

Al nodded, "I'll fetch her and I'll also break the news to her myself if you have no objection. I get the feeling she might take it better coming from me. Why don't you wait in my office?" Seth nodded his agreement and headed towards the stairs. "Where's Cathy?" Al asked Johnny once he knew he wouldn't be overheard.

"Last I saw she was in the kitchen with Adams," he replied.

Al nodded his thanks and followed Johnny's recommendation whereupon he found Silas drinking coffee.

"Everything all right, boss?"

"Where's Cathy?"

"She's out back, why?"

"Bullock's turned up to question her about last night," Al explained. "That cocksucker she knifed is dead."

Silas put his cup down with a clatter. "Jesus."

"I want you outside my office door during the interrogation in case he tries anything stupid, like attempting to take her to jail. If I fail to convince him otherwise, you have my permission to do whatever's necessary to prevent that." Silas nodded his agreement and Al made his way out to the back yard where Catherine was sweeping. "Cathy."

She turned to look at him and he saw that she had little colour in her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes, no doubt from lack of sleep. "Is everything all right?" she asked, leaning the broom against the wall and wiping her hands on her dress.

"Bullock's here to see you."

"What for?"

"That hooplehead you stuck last night…" he paused, knowing he was about to shatter her fragile composure. "Bullock says he's dead." He watched as a look of abject horror crossed her face. "He needs to talk to you about what happened." She stared at him, unmoving. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Take my share of the Gem," she said quietly. "I'll sign whatever you need."

"What the fuck are you talking about? You did what you had to do," he reminded her. "You were protecting Dolly and that's what you tell him."

"But if I hang…"

"Who the fuck...you are not going to fucking hang!"

"But he's dead," she said softly, as though she was trying to educate a child. "He's dead at my hand. He's dead at my hand and that makes me guilty and I should hang."

"Now you fucking listen to me!" he growled at her, stepping forwards and grabbing her by both arms. "You didn't do anything wrong, you understand me? It was the only thing you could do to stop him killing her. Now we're going to go upstairs to my office and you're going to tell Bullock that and you're going to stop all this crazy talk about being hanged!" he shook her roughly. "This ain't the Catherine McCord I know. You understand me?" She nodded. "Good."

"It's just…I never killed anybody before," she whispered.

"I know," he replied, "but I'll be there and I ain't going to let him do anything to you."

He looked down at where his fingers were gripping her arms, released them and ran his hands up to her shoulders and down her back to the small of her waist, inadvertently pulling her closer to him. She didn't protest and when he met her gaze again, he saw her pupils dilate and felt the slight quickening of her breath on his face. His gaze dropped to her lips and he wondered what it would be like to kiss them, to slide his tongue between them into her mouth, to grab a fistful of her hair so that she couldn't escape. Would she be willing and receptive, or would she bite him and push him away?

"Al?" her voice broke through his reverie and when he looked in her eyes again, he saw that what he had assumed was desire, had been replaced with anxiety.

"Yeah." He stepped back from her and gestured for her to walk back inside first, reminding himself where his blade was lest he need to defend her.

XXXX

"I'm assuming Mr Swearengen told you the purpose of my visit," Seth said as she sat down opposite him across the desk.

"Yes," Catherine replied, glancing quickly at Al who was leaning against the office door. For the first time in her life, she felt relieved, safe, that he was there and yet strangely wished he wasn't standing so far away. In that brief moment when he had taken hold of her, she had felt the warmth from his body and wished she could feel it again.

"The deceased's name is John Baker. Does that name mean anything to you?" She shook her head. "Had you ever seen him before last night?"

"Yes, he's been here before, but I never really paid him any attention."

"He's used the whores before without incident?"

"Yes."

"So what was different about last night?"

"I was talking to Harry Manning and I saw him…Baker…with Dolly and he was coming on strong and…"

"Ain't that the point?" he interrupted her.

"A man can signal to a woman that he wants to fuck her without being aggressive about it," she replied. "There was just something about him that made me fucking uneasy. With good fucking cause as it turned out." He nodded to her to continue. "Anyways, he practically dragged Dolly into the room and…I was worried so I went to the door and I heard her scream. So I kicked the door in."

"You kicked the door in?" Seth asked, a look of surprise crossing his face.

"Yes," she glared at him irritated by his assumption that she would be too weak-willed to do something as non-descript as break down a door, "it has been known, Sheriff for me to act as one might not consider a woman should when the situation warrants it, and there weren't anybody else around to do anything. When I got in the room, he had her by the throat and I tried to pull him away but he pushed me into the wall."

"And then you stabbed him."

"He was going to kill her." She glanced at Al who nodded encouragingly.

"Don't take your cues from him."

"I ain't!" She retorted. "Al wasn't even there!"

Seth nodded. "What happened after you stabbed him?"

"He ran out, I got Dolly out of there and I…" she trailed off and looked at Al again, remembering the conversation that had followed and his declaration of certain death to a man who would hurt his wife. "That was it."

"A hero, Sheriff," Al said suddenly. "Not a villain, despite who she might choose to associate with."

Seth continued to look at Catherine, "I'll need to talk to Dolly."

"You don't believe me?" she asked, her voice hardening. "You think I decided to knife a man just for the goddamn hell of it?"

"I think a man's dead and it's my job to find out what happened," Seth replied, rising from his seat. "If the whore backs your story, there'll be no problem."

"If the whore backs my story? Jesus fucking Christ, Bullock you've got a fucking nerve. If only you'd only shown such steely determination in attempting to track down my attacker," Catherine said, raising herself to her full height. "Perhaps you should ask yourself which crime is the greater. My being attacked for no reason or my attacking Baker to stop him killing another human being."

"You're alive, Miss McCord," Seth reminded her. "Mr Baker ain't."

"Fuck you."

Al opened the office door and Silas stepped inside. "Mr Adams will take you to the whore." Seth nodded, turned, and followed him out the room.

"Fucking prick!" Catherine spat once the door had closed behind him. "Arrogant, self-promoting, fucking…cocksucker! How dare he come in here and practically accuse me of fucking murder!" She let out a long breath. "I need a fucking drink."

Al walked around the desk, opened his drawer and pulled out a bottle. Before he could pour any of it into glasses, she had grabbed it from him, uncorked it and started pouring it down her throat. When she'd had her fill, she put it down and wiped her mouth. "Now that was more like the Catherine I know," he said, relieved. "Better?" She nodded. "Don't worry about Bullock. Sheriff he may be, but as far as authority in this camp goes, I hold more sway and that neck of yours is far too pretty to be snapped by a hangman's noose."

"I was worried. All last night I lay there thinking about it and that was before I knew I'd killed him. But I ain't worried any more. I mean, when you consider what actually happened, there's nothing to support a charge of murder. You were right."

"That's more like it," he said.

"I apologise for my earlier reaction."

"Apology fucking accepted."

"Out of curiosity," she put her head on one side, "what would you have done if he'd arrested me and dragged me to the fucking jail?"

"Is this a 'if you were my wife' question or are we speaking as we find at this moment?"

"Speaking as we find at this moment."

"Why do you think I had Adams wait outside? If I hadn't been able to take the Sheriff, and let's not forget that the likelihood of him outflanking a man of my considerable experience at hand to hand combat is minimal, then Adams had strict instructions to prevent your being removed from this room."

"Really?" she looked at him, "and yet you've spent so many years taking pleasure out of my misfortunes and bestowing ugly names on me that I would have thought my being dragged to jail would have amused you."

Before he could say anything in reply, there was a knock at the door and Cochrane appeared. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, stepping inside and closing the door. "Morning Catherine."

"Morning Doc."

"I have to talk to you," Cochrane directed his comments to Al. "It's a matter of some urgency."

"Of course."

"I'll leave you to talk in private," Catherine said, walking around the desk to the door. As she turned the handle, she looked back at Al, wanting him to know that, despite everything, she appreciated his support. "Thank you." He nodded to her as she left.

"So?" he asked, his eyes on the spot where she had stood.

Cochrane sat down in the chair recently vacated by Bullock. "It's about the minister."

XXXX

"Thank you very fucking much Sheriff!" Catherine called out over the balcony as Seth walked past on his way home later that evening. "Really appreciate your fucking efforts today!" He glanced up at her but kept walking. "That's right, keep walking…" she gestured drunkenly, "fucking prick!"

"I think the Sheriff's probably got the message by now that you don't appreciate him," Al said from his position in the doorway behind her.

"Cocksucker," she mumbled, stepping past him back into the office and heading for the half-drunk whisky bottle sitting on his desk. She lifted it, downed another half quart and then slammed it onto the desk. "Jesus Christ, I think I'm fucking drunk."

"Think?" he teased, closing the balcony door and walking back to his seat. "You and Will Bill Hickock's sewer-mouthed friend could be sisters on this night."

"Christ, I ain't that drunk," she said, collapsing down into a chair. "I still can't believe how that cocksucker treated me earlier. How the fuck dare he accuse me of being less than fucking honest? If I'd wanted that prick dead, he would have been dead." She put her head back. "You know what? I reckon you should do those accounts by yourself."

"Oh, is that what we were supposed to be doing?" he replied. "Here was me thinking you only came into my office to partake of my whisky and assault my ears."

Business had been slow that evening and Catherine had declared, out of the blue, that she wanted to help him do the accounts. It was a task he was used to undertaking alone but given that she had already consumed a good amount of liquor, he had felt it prudent that she be in a place where he could keep a watchful eye on her. Moreover, he didn't want to give her any opportunity to relapse into the frightened thinking that she should be hanged simply for killing a man, even if her melancholia had prompted her to offer him her half share of the business, an episode no doubt long forgotten.

"Very fucking funny. As long as business is good, I don't give a shit."

"Business is fine."

"Maybe if things get bad, I should start turning tricks," she said. "What do you think?"

"I think there would be little point as we'd definitely have to charge less than we do for the others, given how we'd be expecting the customers to put up with your yap," he replied.

"Do you know…" she said, ignoring his insult and regarding him with drunken seriousness, "that I have never sucked a man's prick? Nope, not ever. Sucking…" she shook her head, "never done it."

Al regarded her indulgently, "Now if you were attempting to make a living as a whore, that might pose a difficulty, especially if you had your mind made up not to like it."

"I never said I wouldn't like it," she corrected him. "I might find it highly fucking enjoyable given half the chance." She cocked her head on one side. "You like having your prick sucked?"

"Doesn't every man?"

"I ain't a man, that's why I'm asking. Though given how often you invite Dolly to your bed, I'm saying you favour it above all else."

"Any man who says he likes it ain't got no discretion. And any man who says he doesn't is a liar."

Catherine laughed. "I think Harry Manning wants me to suck his prick." She nodded as he raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty fucking sure he had a hard-on under that table last night. If that fucking cocksucker hadn't taken liberties with Dolly, I could have probably sucked Harry's prick."

"It ain't a subject I can say I've ever thought about or indeed care to think about," he said, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "What you and Harry Manning decide to do is entirely your own affair."

"Maybe I could suck yours," she said suddenly.

"My what?" he asked distractedly.

"Your prick."

Al's head snapped up. "You want to suck my prick?"

"I didn't say I wanted to, just that I could." She looked at him coyly. "Would you like me to suck your prick?"

As he met her unwavering gaze, he recognised that the conversation was straying into dangerous territory. It was one thing to be concerned about her welfare, to have briefly considered what it might be like to kiss her, even to have perhaps thought about her that morning during Dolly's visit to his bed, but it was quite another to contemplate a repeat of the arousal of the previous evening, especially knowing that with her drunk and randy it wouldn't take much to persuade him of the merits of the idea.

"He refuses to answer!" she declared. "What does that say about a man, Al? Does he have no discretion or is he liar? Or is he something else entirely?" Without giving him time to reply, she got out of her seat, stumbled around to his side of the desk and dropped to her knees at his feet. "What say you?" she asked, her voice low and rich, her eyes dark in the lamplight. "Shall you unbutton those duds of yours and put your prick in my mouth or do you prefer if I take the initiative?"

He felt himself harden as, in his minds eye, he saw her take him in her mouth. Her lips wrapped around his shaft, moving slowly up and down. Then her tongue swirling at his swollen head, low moans coming from the back of her throat as he grabbed her by the hair and held her on him until he felt himself spurt into her. How satisfying it would be on so many levels…and yet, given everything that had happened, how inappropriate.

"I ain't entirely without sexual experience," she added.

He stood up. "I'd prefer if you got up off my fucking floor and turned in for the evening, lest you wish suffering in the morning." He chivalrously held out his hand and, with a petulant pout, she accepted it and let him pull her to her feet.

"You refuse to indulge me and for that I am fucking put-out. You leave me with no alternative but to suck Harry Manning's prick in the absence of practice. I shall adjourn to my chamber and leave you with all the work to do alone." With haughty, drunken indignation she swept towards the door, taking the remainder of the whisky bottle with her. "If I were your wife," she turned and pointed it at him, "I would refuse you all intimacy out of spite at your rejection of me."

"If you were my wife," he said, opening a fresh bottle, "law says you wouldn't be able to refuse me."

"Ha!" she exclaimed. "Then I challenge you, Al Swearengen, to come to my room, hold me down and fuck me. Til then, you will never have my respect!" She threw open the door, almost colliding with Johnny who had his hand raised to knock. "Al won't let me suck his prick, Johnny," she said, her tone wounded, "and for that, I am fucking affronted." Downing another shot of the whisky, she pushed past him and stumbled off along the balcony.

"Pay no heed to Miss McCord's crudity," Al said on Johnny's look as he sat back down at his desk to conceal his erection. "She's drunk."

"So I see," Johnny said. "Just wanted to let you know that the minister's here, boss. Dan and Trixie got him in the room downstairs."

"Thanks. I'll be down shortly."

After his underling had left, Al drank three glasses straight before rising and leaving his office to complete an act of mercy that accounted for only one of the many reasons why sense dictated he should never touch her.


	8. Chapter 8

March 15th 1876

"Miss McCord!"

Catherine stopped walking, and turned around from where she had been about to make her way back into the Gem, in time to see Harry Manning hurrying across the thoroughfare towards her. Humping the large shoulder of beef she had just purchased from Wu further up into her arms, she smiled as welcomingly as she could at him. "Afternoon Mr Manning."

"Oh...uh...afternoon," he replied, touching his hat briefly. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you."

"It's just...I…uh...I heard that...you know..." She shook her head. "Well that...you had...you know...stabbed somebody."

"If you're referring to Mr Baker then yes I did and with good fucking cause," she replied acerbically, "and I wasn't charged with anything so now if you don't mind..."

"Oh, no, no, wait!" Harry declared as she turned to walk away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply...I mean I know that you had good reason after what he tried to do to that whore I..." he sighed. "I ain't very good at this."

"Ain't very good at what?"

"Well...I was wondering if...if you weren't otherwise engaged...if you would be inclined to have dinner with me tonight at the hotel."

Catherine stared at him, momentarily caught off guard by his proposal. "Dinner tonight? With you?"

"Uh...yes ma'am. Only if Mr Swearengen can spare you, that is."

"It ain't up to Mr Swearengen what I do," she said quickly. In fact, she and Al had spoken little in the last few days, the reason for which she hadn't been entirely sure. Through a haze, she could remember shouting at Bullock in drunken anger but it had only been when Johnny couldn't stop giggling every time he saw her and she had persuaded him to confess the source of his mirth that she had realised conversation between herself and Al had apparently turned to fucking and, moreover, that he appeared to have refused her offer to suck his prick. Every time she thought about it, she felt herself colour with embarrassment and she was convinced that he hadn't been looking her in the eye of late.

"No, I wasn't implying that..."

"Fuck it. Mr Manning, I would like to have dinner with you," she stated.

"You would?" he looked at her as though he had been expecting a refusal. She nodded. "All...all right then. How about seven o'clock?"

"That's fine."

"Shall I come to the Gem and collect you?"

Catherine paused. Would Al care? If he had refused her then clearly he had no interest in her, not that she was wishing him to, and there should be little cause for a scene at her having a suitor. "That would be very nice, Mr Manning, thank you." He smiled at her, touched his hat again and scurried back off in the direction from which he had come. Catherine continued on her original course back into the Gem where she found Jewel waiting for her somewhat impatiently.

"You been ages getting that beef," she criticised.

"Fuck you, Jewel. I don't see you offering to fetch it."

"I can't carry it."

"Well good for you. I'll even carry it into the kitchen for you," Catherine said, pushing past her and putting it down on the counter.

"You're in a funny fucking mood," Jewel observed, looking sideways at her.

"Am I?"

"Yeah, what's going on? How comes you took so long?"

"I was talking to Harry Manning."

"About what?"

"He asked me to have dinner with him this evening," she replied nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd he ask you to have dinner with him?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "maybe because he likes my fucking company? Finds me interesting? Wants to talk to me?"

"Al won't like it," Jewel shook her head.

"Fuck Al," Catherine said. "He ain't got no say in what I do with my life. Why would he care anyways?"

"You know what he's like."

"Well he's got no right to be like that," she mumbled. "Ain't like he's…well…you know."

"He didask you to marry him."

"And I refused with good fucking reason! But I tell you what," Catherine wiped her hands on her dress. "I'll go and tell him right now. That way, he ain't going to find out from someone else and then find out that you knew and take it out on you, all right?"

"All right."

"Fine." She left Jewel with the beef and headed back through the bar and up the stairs towards Al's office, all the while questioning why she was bothering attempting to elicit his approval or otherwise. As she approached the door, it opened suddenly and Farnum appeared, clearly fresh from some deep, intellectual debate.

"Good afternoon Miss McCord," he greeted her.

"Mr Farnum."

"Might I say you are looking extremely well today? You have colour in your cheeks and your appearance is much improved in recent weeks."

"Thank you Mr Farnum. If you don't mind, I'm here to see Al."

"Ah, yes of course!" he stepped aside for her. "I'm sure there are many developments in camp for you two partners to machinate over. I wish you well in your discussions!" With that, he flounced away towards the stairs leaving her to knock on the door and wait for Al's call for entry. When it came, she stepped inside.

"I don't know how you stand that man," she said by way of greeting. "He makes me want to do things to him that wouldhave Bullock arrest me."

Al looked at her, "I sincerely hope you're referring to violence and not to anything of a more…intimate nature."

Catherine rolled her eyes and sat down opposite him, grimacing at the warmth emanating from the chair where Farnum had evidently just been. "I got the beef from Wu."

"Good," he replied, studying the paper in front of him.

"Took me a good half hour to make him realise what I wanted though. I don't know how many fucking times I had to say 'Swidgen' before he understood."

"Mmmm."

She decided to bite the bullet, albeit she wasn't entirely sure why she should have concern at telling him in the first place. "Harry Manning asked me to have dinner with him this evening."

Al looked at her over his glasses. "Manning did." She nodded. "This evening."

"Yes."

"And you accepted."

"Yes, Al, I did." She paused as he stared at her. "You don't have a problem with me having dinner with him, do you?"

"Oh no," he mocked, sitting back in his chair, "not if you like spending the evening listening to inane chat about nothing of any particular consequence and running the serious risk of falling asleep in your entree."

"That ain't fair."

"Come back and say that to me again afterthe event."

She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't, the newspaper seemingly holding more interest for him. "Fine. Well if you have no objections, inappropriate as they would have been in any event, then I'm going to go."

"I ain't going to stop you," he murmured, his attention once more diverted by Merrick's latest editorial.

"All right then," she stood up. "I'll make sure the girls are ready to work before I leave."

"Suit yourself." She turned and walked away out of the office, closing the door softly behind her. Only once she was gone did he look up again, crumple the paper and toss it angrily to one side, in a display of how he really felt about her evening plans.

XXXX

The rest of the day passed without incident for Al, though every time he caught sight of Catherine in the bar, or she came into his office on some quest or another, he couldn't help thinking about the evening she had planned with Harry Manning. Dinner, drinking, talking and, perhaps, even fucking. He tried hard not to imagine her on her back on a bed in one of Farnum's rooms, her skirts hitched up and Manning climbing on top of her. Knowing her the way he did, he was relatively secure in his belief that she wouldn't allow herself to end up in such a situation but having offered her services to him so willing a few nights earlier, he found himself carrying a small scintilla of doubt as to her ability to refuse after partaking of liquor.

As darkness fell and the lamps were lit, he came out of his office at the same moment that Catherine was coming out of her room. Her back was to him as she locked her door, but when she turned he saw that she was wearing a dress with a green velvet corset and matching shawl. Her hair was pulled half up on top of her head, wisps escaping to frame her face. In truth, he had never seen her look more beautiful, but there was no need for her to know that. "Interviewing for a job at Tolliver's place?" he asked.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "I'm dining with Harry Manning at the hotel, as well you know."

"Ah yes, of course," he said, as though just remembered.

She stepped towards him and he caught the faint scent of roses from her skin. "It's Dolly's first night back on the floor since what happened with Baker. Please, can you keep an eye on her? I know she's nervous and..."

"Are you wearing perfume?" he interrupted.

"What? Yes, yes I am, so what?"

"Nice," he said, walking around her. "Pretty dress, hair brushed and pinned, perfume on your décolletage..." he sniffed her, "all that effort just for dinner?" He met her irritated gaze. "He may be expecting more."

"And if I choose to give more, that's my fucking business," she replied, turning to go.

Before he could stop himself, Al reached out and caught hold of her wrist, pulling her back to him. Her expression at his action was one of surprise, eyes wide, mouth open as though waiting to rebuke him. "Don't."

"Don't what?" she replied. "Don't have dinner with him or don't fuck him if the opportunity presents itself?"

Her eyes flashed with anger and defiance and whilst he found himself poised to drag her into his office, hold her down and fulfil her challenge to him, the wisdom that age and experience brought won out. Releasing her, he pushed her gently away from him. "Have a pleasant evening." She stared at him for a few moments, her brow creased in confusion, before she turned away and made her way along the balcony and down the stairs into the bar.

As she did so, Harry chose that moment to walk in, dressed more smartly than Al had ever seen him before, his hat in one hand and a pink flower in the other. He watched as he presented it to Catherine and she took it with obvious flattery mixed with embarrassment. As Harry offered her his arm, and she accepted, she glanced up at him and he nodded to her. Then he made his way back to his office, vowing that he would notspend the evening out on the balcony watching her.

XXXX

Al was half right, Catherine thought as she pushed her fish around her plate. It wasn't that Harry's conversation was inane, but it was hardly verging on the edge of excitement and every time she passed a comment she considered controversial, designed to elicit a spirited response, he would duck his head, mumble something incoherent and then start talking about beef or the need for a fire wagon. It probably didn't help that Farnum, who had been rendered almost dumb with surprise by their arrival together, kept bobbing around the table, asking if everything was to their liking and if more wine was required. It was clear, that he was storing up whatever information he could to take back to Al and though she didn't know if his constant intrusion had been sanctioned by Al, it irritated her nonetheless.

Some two hours after they had arrived, dinner being over and there being no further reason to tarry, given that Harry clearly had no intention of attempting to elicit a fuck and she had no intention of offering it, she made her excuses about needing to get back to the Gem and Harry chivalrously walked her across the thoroughfare to the door.

"I had a very nice evening, Mr Manning, thank you," she said.

"I'm…I'm glad," he replied. "Perhaps, you'd like to have dinner with me again sometime?"

Catherine paused, wondering how best to let him down without seeming too harsh. "I'll have to check my schedule and let you know."

"Of course," he replied, looking at the ground, "I understand."

"Well…"

"Oh…uh…" he stepped forward and, taking her by surprise, kissed her quickly on the cheek. "I'll…uh…I'll say goodnight then."

"Yes," she replied, "goodnight." As she watched him lope away into the darkness, it seemed no arduous task to strike him from the list of eligible bachelors in the camp who might one day seek her hand. With a sigh, half of disappointment and half of relief, she turned and made her way back into the Gem.

XXXX

"What the fuck is she doing over there?" Al demanded, leaning over the balcony, trying to see in the windows of the hotel.

"What the fuck is who doing where?" Dan asked, coming out to stand beside him.

"Catherine!" Al declared tipsily, pointing his half empty whisky bottle across to the hotel. "Dining with Harry fucking Manning at EB's hotel! Three hours she's been gone and you can't tell me that he's the kind of man that can hold a woman's attention, conversation-wise, for that length of time. I tell you something, Dan, she better not be fucking him."

"Would you really give a fuck if she was?" Al didn't reply. "Anyways…she came back about a half hour ago," Al turned slowly to look at him. "Yeah, she's downstairs now helping Jewel clear up in the kitchen."

"Well why didn't you fucking say so?" Al demanded. "Am I not the proprietor of this establishment? Should I not be kept informed as to the fucking comings and goings of my staff?"

"Sorry," Dan apologised, "Didn't realise you were keeping such a close eye on her."

"Next time, don't even fucking bother," Al said, pushing past him and marching back through his office, out onto the balcony, down the stairs, ignoring any and all persons who chose to offer greetings and made his way into the kitchen where he found Catherine just coming in from the backyard. "She returns!" he exclaimed. "And does she have colour in her cheeks? Does her jaw ache from the very act of sucking prick? Or did she lie back and open her legs instead?"

Catherine stared at him, "What?"

"Did Harry Manning, your eager suitor, thrusthis way inside you like the stallion rides the mare?" he asked scornfully. "Did he bring you to the mountain peak of exquisite pleasure and then...cast you down the other side or did he, as I rather suspect more likely, fumble his way under your skirts in a vain, schoolboy attempt to excite you?"

"Neither," she replied curtly, moving several pots and pans from one counter to another. "We had dinner and talked, that's all."

"For over two hours?" he said incredulously. "You don't honestly mean to tell me, that that idiot had your attention piqued for all that time with tales of life with Tom Nuttall at Number 10, do you?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business..."

"I think you'll find it's exactly my fucking business when a woman, who only two short evenings ago was offering to suck my prick, is now offering the warmth of her mouth to the entire camp without reference to any form of payment! Get the fuck out!" he snapped at Jewel who appeared, momentarily, in the doorway.

"Forgive me," Catherine replied sarcastically, "I didn't realise that accepting an invitation to dine with a man automatically meant I wanted to suck his prick! Nor did I realise that, if I did, he required to pay me for the fucking privilege!"

"See, that's where you're naïve despite your station here," he told her. "Sex is a commodity, like liquor and faro! It's there to be bought and sold primarily for the pleasure of men! It ain't something to be given any more meaning than that!"

"And that's where you're twisted!" she retorted. "I agree that sex can be like that, but it don't always have to be! It ain't always something that has to happen between whore and customer! It can be something between two people who feel something for each other, who want to be together, who…come alive in each other's arms!"

"Jesus Christ…and did you 'come alive' with Harry fucking Manning?"

"I didn't do anything with Harry fucking Manning except fucking talk! Neither he nor I ventured the subject much beyond fucking fire wagons, if you must know! And much as it pains me to ally myself with him in any fucking way whatsoever, Farnum can corroborate my story given how often he kept coming by the fucking table!"

"But I'm sure, given half a fucking opportunity, you would have been on your knees under the table sucking his prick like your life fucking depended on it!"

Catherine frowned. "Whose, Farnum's?"

"Manning's!" Al retorted.

"Well considering your prick appears to have higher fucking standards than my mouth can ever hope to aspire to, maybe I would have!"

"You wouldn't know what to do with my fucking prick! You said so yourself, that you have never sucked a prick before!"

"Well there always has to be a first time and your prick would seem as good as any to start with! But the idea clearly filled you with such horror that I fear if I had taken my request further, pulled up my skirts and lain on your bed willing to grant entry to my pussy for your prick you would have fucking passed out!"

"If you had exposed yourself to me in such a manner, I would have gamely taken you, thus fulfilling for myself a desire long held to give you a good seeing to!"

"You're a fucking liar, and a fucking coward!" she declared, turning to leave the kitchen.

"Don't you fucking walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" He shouted at her.

"Or what?" she rounded on him. "What are you going to do, Al? Beat me like you do every other woman who has the goddamn gumption to stand up to you?"

"Don't fucking tempt me! I've told you often enough that what your daddy should have done is given you a good fucking slap every now and again!"

"I'd like to see you fucking try! For your information, I'm still armed and I've got a fucking taste for killing now! Wouldn't take much for me to gut you like I did that cocksucker the other night!"

"And it wouldn't take much for me to come over there, throw you on the floor, hold you down and fuck you as you so boldly challenged me to do!"

"Fucking do it then!" she retaliated. "Come over here and fucking do it!"

Al stared at her, eyes bright, cheeks high with colour, hair starting to fall out of place and bosom heaving with the effort of her animation. Only God knew how much he wanted to do it, how desperate he was to do to her exactly what she had offered, what she wasn't backing away from. He took a step towards her and then stopped on her sudden intake of breath. "Jesus fucking Christ…" he turned away so he didn't have to look at her, confused by why this all had to be so fuckingdifficult. She was a woman, just a woman like any other. Like any whore. All he needed to do was get her on her back and she wasn't even protesting at that prospect. And yet…she wasn't just a woman like any other. She was Catherine and something about that was more frightening than anything he had ever experienced before.

"Al?" he hadn't heard her steal up behind him and, when he turned back, she was right in front of him, her face upturned to his, eyes wide and questioning, lips moist and inviting, her body so close to him that he could still smell the roses. Reaching out as before, he slid his hands onto her waist, pulling her closer to him, rubbing his thumbs over the heavy velvet of her corset. She made no sign of unwillingness, indeed lifting her hands, she placed them palm down on his chest and moved herself in even tighter to him. As she slid her hands up his body to wind her arms around his neck, her eyes started to close. Pulling her against him, he was about to kiss her, when there was an almighty crash from the backyard, causing them both to spring apart.

"What the fuck…?" Al declared as the back door opened and Wu appeared.

"Swidgen…cocksuckers!" he shouted, waving his arms around. "Cocksuckers!"

"Jesus fucking Christ…" he looked back at Catherine. "I…uh…"

"It's fine," she said quickly. "You should deal with Wu. Clearly he's fucking animated about something."

"Wu…Swidgen…cocksuckers!" Wu added helpfully.

Al nodded. "All right, Wu, go up…up…" he gestured above, "to my office." The Chink nodded and strode past them through to the bar. Catherine turned back to the pans that still lay on the counter and started moving them around aimlessly again. "I'll come…" he started, then stopped. "May I come to your room later?" She turned back around to look at him. "Once I've dealt with fucking Wu?"

"Of course."

He nodded and then hurried out of the kitchen.

XXXX

"I killed the minister." He watched her face register surprise. "Two nights ago in the whores' room. I put a rag over his face, cut off his air and felt him die under me. A man of God…killed by a man who has no God." Catherine stepped back from the half-opened bedroom door and allowed him into her room. He hadn't meant to come out with such a statement the moment she granted him entry, but it had been one of the many things that he had wanted...needed...to tell her before anything else could happen.

She crossed the room and sat down in the chair at the vanity table. When she met his gaze again, he was relieved to see there was no recrimination in her eyes, merely curiosity. "Did he…did he ask you to do it?"

"Not in so many words," he leaned against the far wall. "But you'd seen him, what he'd become. Doc asked me to care for him here, though I think his request came more out of a desire to see the minister properly cared for as opposed to him being murdered."

"Does Doc know you killed him?"

Al shook his head. "Thinks he just passed away. Only ones who saw it were Dan and Johnny, though I reckon Trixie might have an inclination being as she was outside the room."

"Well, it ain't as if any of them, or me for that matter, would have the slightest interest in telling Bullock if that's your concern."

He looked at her, "It ain't. I'm well aware of what loyalty I command here and if Bullock tried to bring the law down on me I would rail against him as hard as I would have done for you. I don't tell you this to secure your loyalty, Cathy. I tell you so that you understand what kind of man you're dealing with."

She smiled slightly, "You think I didn't already know that? I may be young, Al, but stupid I ain't. I know what goes on here. I know the things you've done, both past and present, and they make no difference to me. Besides, I have a body to my name now too, don't forget."

He smiled in return, "Don't you ever forget that you killed because you had to. Not for power or money or personal advantage."

"I'm sure that moment will come eventually."

"No," he said seriously, stepping forwards. "I don't ever want that moment to come for you. I don't ever want you to find yourself in a situation like that. Not ever. Sometimes...I can't help but think that your staying in this camp only leaves you vulnerable to such a thing."

Her face hardened. "I ain't leaving. I ain't selling you my share…"

"That ain't what I'm saying," he reassured her. "Forgive me if wishing to look out for your wellbeing makes me sound self-serving. In all honesty, if you want to fuck Harry Manning, hell if you want to fucking marry him, it ain't up to me to dissuade you otherwise."

Catherine laughed, "I got no fucking intention of either fucking or marrying Harry Manning. On that account you have my solemn word."

"I won't pretend I ain't fucking relieved." He moved back towards the door and as he turned back to look at her, he saw a flicker of disappointment cross her features. "Cathy…you know that I do, don't you?"

"Do what?" she asked, getting to her feet, her expression suddenly neutral again.

"I do want to fuck you."

She smiled, "I know."

"And I don't think I'd be entirely out of line if I said that I've formed the impression over these last hours that you might welcome such a thing from me." She nodded slightly. "But…"

"It's all right," she said quickly. "I understand and I agree. Like you said, sex is a commodity for you, and a transaction of that nature between you and I…"

"That don't mean that…over time…I might not find myself inclined to think…feel…differently." He stepped towards her again. "I want you to fucking understand that."

"I do," she nodded. "I do."

"Good." He held her gaze for a long moment. "I'd be inclined to finish what we started in the kitchen but…"

"Best not to," she interrupted. "Complicating this…arrangement…with more physical contact is fraught with fucking…complications."

"Exactly," he said, relieved. "Smarter than you fucking look." He opened the door. "Goodnight Cathy."

"Goodnight Al."


	9. Chapter 9

April 1st 1876

Kitty had felt the first stirrings of pain the previous evening. At first, she thought it was just her monthly, an inconvenience which had always irritated Al but which he had been powerless to do anything about. It didn't prevent any of the girls from working but restricted them to hand and blow jobs and being strict when a customer's hands wandered too far. As long as there weren't too many of the girls at the same stage at any one time, Al was generally happy. So, she thought little of it at first. A strong cup of tea with some of those herbal powders Doc had provided for such ailments usually did the trick.

By the morning, she was surprised that she hadn't started to bleed and yet the pain was still there. It came in waves, sometimes so strong that it would make her bend double with the force of it. She hid it from the other girls, not wanting to worry any of them, and though she considered telling Catherine about it, she had found the other woman somewhat distracted of late. If Kitty hadn't known better, she would have thought Catherine had finally fallen prey to Al and ended up in his bed. She knew her boss wanted it, for his ramblings during her last visit to his bed had not gone unnoticed, but Kitty was sure that Catherine would never entertain it. Over the last few weeks, however, she had noticed a change between them, stolen glances across the room, brushing past each other when there was no need for bodily connection and a much more amiable relationship. She hadn't mentioned anything to the other girls in case it was merely her imagination and she certainly didn't want to risk angering Al with false rumours.

Kitty told Dolly that she had her monthly and this was relayed to Catherine and, presumably to Al, as she overheard him tell Dan and Johnny that morning that she was 'restricted.' So, she drank voluminous cups of tea with the salty powder and prayed for the pain to go away quickly.

XXXX

"Did you tell the boys that Kitty's restricted?" Catherine asked Al as they sat in his office going over the day's upcoming events.

"I did."

"Good. The last thing we want is another incident like that which happened with Caleb O'Reilly last month," she said meaningfully, shuddering somewhat at the memory of the gentleman in question emerging from Kitty's room, roaring in anger at the fact that his whore was bleeding. "What time's the meeting?"

"Twelve o'clock," Al replied, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"And do I get to attend? After all, we are partners in this business and I surely have as much right as anyone else to be present."

"Traditionally, it's men only," he told her.

"Traditionally? This is a new camp, Al, a new town. There ain't no such thing as fucking tradition. And after all, many of the decisions to be made affect the women in this camp just as much as the men and it seems only fair…"

"Jesus Christ, all right!" he threw his hands up. "You can attend, but keep your yap closed unless your opinion is solicited, understand?"

"Understanding don't necessarily mean agreeing." Catherine got to her feet. "I believe I shall reserve my decision on my conduct until we're actually at the meeting."

"Fine," he stood up and moved with her towards the door. "I don't suppose slapping you across the face and demanding you bend to my will would have any effect."

She smiled at his indulgence of her. "None at all, not unless you'd like a knife stuck in your guts." She made to open the office door but he pushed it closed again and moved in close behind her, his mouth inches from her ear.

"I rather find myself more partial to the idea of sticking something in you than have you stick something in me."

Catherine laughed and turned to face him so that her back was pressed against the door. "That is a fucking terrible attempt at seduction."

"Really? My apologies. What about this?" he slid his hands onto her waist and pressed his body against hers.

"Better," she replied, her face upturned to his, her mouth tantalisingly close to his. She felt her heart start to beat faster, as it had done every time over the last few weeks when he had deigned to touch her. Her need for more was growing and yet there was always something to either interrupt them or hold him back. Night after night, she lay in bed hoping that he would choose that evening to come to her room and satisfy her, and morning after morning she awoke disappointed. She stared into his eyes, watching as they danced over her face, wondering what he was thinking. "I really should be downstairs making sure the girls are ready for the day."

"I ain't stopping you."

"Well…actually you are." Catherine smiled as Al looked at her questioningly. "Your hands are on my waist and your body is pressed against mine, all of which really does make escape quite difficult if…unwanted."

Smiling, he pressed himself hard against her one final time and then released her, stepping back towards his desk. "You'd best go about your duties then, Miss McCord," he teased, "lest the Gem fall to rack and ruin due to your neglect."

She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and left the room, failing to notice Kitty standing further along the corridor, both hands on her stomach and a look of abject pain on her face.

XXXX

"I think it's important we have a school," Seth said, looking around at the assembled group. "It's important that the camp's children are educated."

"I agree," Merrick said. "If we want our town to grow and to be acceptable, not just to the United States but to everyone in the world, then we have to show that we're committed to the education of our young folk."

"Everyone in the world?" Farnum asked.

Merrick coughed, "You know what I mean."

"I don't really give a shit one way or the other," Tolliver said, waving his cigar. "Whether children learn to read and write ain't exactly high on my list of priorities. I don't expect the girls that work for me to have any literacy skills. In fact, it's downright dangerous if they do. It encourages thoughts above their station."

"I ain't talking about whores," Seth said. "I'm talking about children."

"I know what you're talking about. But the children we educate today are the whores we fuck tomorrow." Tolliver cast a look around the table at the audible murmurs of disagreement.

"There's a lady present," Seth reminded him.

"Of course there is, and she's a whoremistress." Tolliver looked at Catherine who was sitting with her arms folded across her chest. "Am I wrong? You must be in agreement Miss McCord, I'm sure."

She met his gaze. "I can read and write, Mr Tolliver."

"I'm well aware that your sweet pussy ain't for sale," Tolliver replied, glancing quickly at Al, "but surely you agree that if your whores had those skills, it would be much harder to keep them in line?"

"I don't need to keep my girls 'in line'."

"I think we're getting off the subject," Seth interjected. "All those in favour of the school, raise your hand." All those around the table did as requested, though Tolliver's hand went up last and reluctantly. "Good, motion is carried."

"What about a teacher?" Merrick asked. "If there isn't anyone in the camp willing to take on the task, we would require to advertise further afield and that will take time."

"Time enough for us to find a suitable location for the school," Charlie said.

"Perhaps Miss McCord can do it," Tolliver said sarcastically, glancing sideways at her. "Opinionated, forthright, desperate to be in charge…ain't that what we need in a teacher?"

"Thank you for your endorsement Mr Tolliver but my duties here keep me pretty fucking busy," Catherine smiled superciliously at him. "Sheriff, didn't your wife express an interest at one time in taking on the role?"

Seth looked up, "She did."

"Then perhaps we could prevail upon her."

He nodded. "I can ask her."

"Well, if that's all the business that needs to be discussed…" Tolliver pushed his chair back from the table and made to rise.

"Wait." Al spoke for the first time from his seat at the far end of the table. "Seeing as you're so keen on discussing whores, what about that girl of yours that had syphilis?"

Tolliver eyed him warily, "What does she have to do with anything?"

"The general health of the camp is important," Al replied, "Doc? Am I right? We don't want an outbreak and, speaking for myself and…Miss McCord…" he gestured across the table at her, "who you so rightly pointed out is in charge of our whores here…we don't want any of our girls being infected by any of your customers."

"Then there's no difficulty," Tolliver replied. "My customers don't use your girls."

"Your staff do," Catherine said. "That dope fiend Leon's been in here once or twice, very keen on using our girls."

Tolliver glared at her, "Well I'll have to make enquiries into that."

"As you see fit."

"In any event…" he ground his cigar out on the table. "The girl won't be causing any more problems."

"And why's that?" Catherine asked, getting to her feet.

"Because she's dead," he told her. "Good day gentlemen, Miss McCord." He moved past her, nudging her shoulder as he did so, and headed for the door. Around the table, the others got to the feet, quietly talking amongst themselves as they made their exit.

"It's true," Doc said, as Catherine turned questioning eyes on him. "Girl died last week."

Catherine sighed heavily, "Sometimes Doc…"

"I know," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I know."

She moved over to the bar, as Dan and Johnny started moving the tables back for the re-opening, and poured herself a large measure of whisky.

"Was your sole purpose for being at that meeting to raise Tolliver's hackles?" Al asked, coming over to stand beside her.

"No," she replied, pouring him a glass. "He posed a question and I responded."

He drained it. "By trying to make him look a fool?"

"Are you chastising me?" she asked angrily. "For if so, don't expect any apology, to you or him."

"A little friendly advice is all," he replied. "Tolliver is not an enemy you want to be making."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a dangerous man who wouldn't think twice about hurting any one of his girls or that Stubbs woman who works for him…or you." His last words were said pointedly, laden with a meaning that only she would understand.

"I ain't afraid of him," Catherine replied, pointing her glass at him.

"I ain't saying you should be. I'm just telling you how it is."

"Well I'm grateful for your concern."

He moved in closer to her, "How grateful?"

She met his gaze. "How grateful would you like me to be?"

Al opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a scream and the sound of running feet. Seconds later, Dolly rushed into the bar. "Catherine! Catherine!"

"Jesus Christ, what is it?" Catherine asked, half shocked, half irritated at the interruption.

"It's Kitty! Something's wrong with her!"

"Get Doc back here!" Catherine said to Al as she followed the other girl towards Kitty's room. Inside, she found her writhing on the bed, clearly in agony, clutching her stomach, surrounded by the other girls. "What the hell happened?" she demanded, hurrying over.

"I don't know, we just found her like this!" Dolly said.

"Kitty? Kitty, can you hear me?" Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and felt her forehead. "Jesus, she's burning up! Get some water!" Someone scurried away to fulfil her request. "Where's the pain, honey, your stomach?" Kitty nodded, but when Catherine tried to touch it, she howled in pain. Moments later, one of the girls arrived back with a basin and flannel and Catherine started to wipe the sweat from Kitty's forehead. With every passing moment, however, Kitty's howls of pain got louder.

"Al wants to know what the fuck is going on," Dan said, his head suddenly appearing round the door.

"Where the fuck is Doc?" Catherine replied.

"He's on his way. So…what should I tell Al?"

"Use your fucking imagination Dan!" At that moment, Doc appeared in the doorway. "Doc, thank God!" She stepped away from the bed to allow him access, ushering all but Dolly out of the room and closing the door behind them. She waited, hovering at the bottom of the bed while he examined her. "Do you know what's wrong with her?" she asked after several minutes of silence.

"I reckon so. Kitty…" Doc said, putting his hand on the young girl's stomach causing her to cry out in pain. "Kitty, I need you to tell me."

"Tell you what?" Catherine asked.

"How far along are you?" he asked, ignoring her.

"What?" Catherine exclaimed, horror filling her.

"She's pregnant!" he lifted his gaze to hers. "And she's in trouble."

"But she…she can't be. I…I watch them closely…and they know…they know what to do…"

"Kitty, you have to tell me how far along you are!" Doc tried again, but all Kitty could do was cry out.

Catherine looked round to where Dolly was hovering by the door. "Do you know?" she demanded as Dolly looked at her fearfully. "Dolly!" She strode over and grabbed the other girl by the shoulders. "Do you know how far along Kitty is?"

"No!" Dolly replied, tearfully. "I didn't even know she was expecting!"

"Jesus Christ…" Catherine hurried back over to the bed. "Is it a miscarriage?"

"No," Doc replied, "looks like the pregnancy's ectopic."

"Oh my God…Mama…" Memories suddenly flooded her brain. The joy at the news of a potential new life all too suddenly turning to terror. The screaming, the blood…and then the terrible silence.

"What does that mean?" Dolly wailed.

"I need Trixie," Doc said, ignoring her. "She knows what to do and she can help me like she did with Mrs Ellsworth. Now!" he roared as Catherine stood there mute.

"All right…" Catherine moved to the door and hurried back out into the bar. Al and the boys were standing with Farnum and Merrick, the remaining whores in a huddle in the far corner. "Doc needs Trixie!" she declared. None of them moved. "Johnny, get her now!" He needed no further encouragement and rushed towards the door. "Kitty's pregnant," she directed the comment to Al.

"Figured as much," he replied, lifting a full shot of whisky.

"Doc says it's ectopic." He paused, the glass halfway to his lips, and she saw that he understood. Before he could say anything, however, she turned and hurried back into the room. "Johnny's fetching Trixie," she said, watching as Doc began pulling out various instruments from his bag.

"I need some boiling water."

"Dolly, get the water!" Catherine ordered and the other girl scurried away. "What are you going to do?"

"I need to get the foetus out of her and repair the damage to her fallopian tube…if I can," he replied, methodically laying the instruments on the dresser.

"The baby…can it…?"

"No," he cut her off. "Most important thing is trying to save this girl's life."

"My mother," Catherine said shakily, "She…" she broke off as Kitty let out another moan of pain and thrashed around on the bed. Doc tried to soothe her, gently wiping her brow and murmuring to her. Catherine wanted to do the same, but found that she couldn't move. The memories of her six year old self, banished from her mother's room as the doctor in Chicago tried desperately to save her life made it impossible for her to do anything. At that moment, Dolly reappeared with a pan of boiling water and laid it on the dresser, the action bringing Catherine back to the present situation. "I didn't know…I swear, Doc, I didn't know…"

"That's for later," he said, not looking at her.

The door suddenly opened and Trixie appeared. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She tossed her shawl onto the floor. "What can I do?"

"Hold her down and keep wiping her down. You two, out," Doc waved at Catherine and Dolly.

"But…" Catherine started.

"Out!"

Dolly didn't hesitate. She practically ran out of the room and into the bar to where the other girls were waiting for news. Catherine backed out slowly, closing the door behind her and sinking down into the chair in the passageway. Al suddenly appeared at her side, a full glass of whisky in his hand. Wordlessly, he passed it to her and she accepted it equally as silently. Then she drained it and waited.

XXXX

Twenty minutes later and there was no sound coming from Kitty's room. Catherine wasn't sure when she had started crying, but she could feel the dampness on her cheeks. In her heart, she knew and yet she didn't want to believe it.

The door eventually opened and Doc came out, his expression downcast. "How is she?" she asked, getting to her feet.

He sighed heavily and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Catherine…she's dead." She nodded mutely, for it was what she had expected. "There was nothing I could do. There was too much internal damage and she just…she just wasn't strong enough."

"Kitty's young," she stammered, "She's young and she's healthy, I…"

"It don't matter how young and strong you are when something like that happens," Doc explained, "She was too far gone. I'm sorry." Though she knew it was true, she couldn't believe it until she had seen for herself. Moving past him, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The reality of the situation hit her the moment she stepped inside. Kitty was lying on the bloodstained sheets, the stench of death already hanging over her. Doc had respectfully closed her eyes, but the gaping hole in her abdomen where he had evidently attempted to operate was still visible. "Oh God, Kitty…" she said softly. Trixie was sitting beside the bed, gently stroking the other girl's hair. "They know," she said, "they all know what to do if…why didn't she? Why didn't she?"

Trixie looked at her, "You got not idea what it's like being a whore, Catherine. You can try all you want to imagine it but you can't know. Not until it's you lying under some fucking cocksucker pleasuring him for money." Her tone wasn't unkind, but her words still stung.

"Catherine…" she felt Doc's hands on her shoulders. "There ain't anything you can do for her now. Best let me and Trixie clean her up a bit and get her ready for burial." She nodded and allowed him to propel her back out of the room towards the bar.

There were no customers, Al at least having the decency to close whilst Kitty lay dying, but there was no sign of him. Silas, Dan and Johnny were sat at one table, the girls crowded round another. When they saw her face, they broke out into a cacophony of sobbing which even Dan didn't try to quieten. Silently, she lifted the nearest whisky bottle and joined the boys at their table. Four glasses were poured, four glasses were raised and four people spent a few brief moments thinking about one unfortunate whore.

XXXX

Al had known how it would go from the minute Catherine had told him Kitty's pregnancy was ectopic. She had known it too, he could tell. For a moment, he had been transported back fifteen years to Chicago when the same fate had befallen Catherine's mother. At thirty, the doctor there had said Evelyn had been too old to bear a child in any event. He knew that while Travis could have borne the loss of the child he hoped would be a son, the loss of his beloved wife had left him bereft. Much as his marriage to Nettie had been declining at that time, Al had been grateful for her embraces that night.

The clock in his office chimed four o'clock and he decided it was safe to venture out. The bar was quiet for though Dan had taken the liberty of re-opening, few had ventured inside and none of the girls seemed particularly inclined to fucking.

"Well?" he asked Dan as he approached the bar.

"She died, boss."

"Then God speed her to a better life," Al said. "She still in there?"

"Got her boxed up and ready to go to Tom Nuttall."

"Good, and find that hooplehead Cramed. The one who claims to be a Reverend. Girl ought to have a few kind words said over her, if not for her sake then for others." He poured himself a drink and looked around. "Where's Cathy?"

Dan glanced at Johnny, "Well, she's…I mean…" Al stared at him. "She's…"

"Oh please, by all means conceal the answer as long as possible for maximum dramatic effect," Al said sarcastically.

"She's…with a customer."

"What do you mean, she's with a customer?"

"Now we told her not to, boss," Johnny chipped in. "But she wasn't having it. Said we was down a girl and it was the best thing she could do. For Kitty."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"She's in there," Dan gestured to the room at the end. "With a customer…getting fucked."

The full horror of Dan's revelation hit Al square in the chest. Thumping the whisky bottle down on the bar, he hurried down the corridor and threw open the door to the room Dan had indicated. Inside, Catherine was propped up against the wall, a bottle to her lips, whilst an eager young gentleman was in the process of unbuttoning her corset. He jumped and turned as the door slammed back on its hinges and Al recognised Adam McSween, the son of a local miner.

"This one's not for sale, son," Al said as calmly as he could, for it was hardly the boy's fault that Catherine had clearly taken leave of her senses.

"But…I've already paid, Mr Swearengen," Adam said eagerly. "See? I promise I did." He gestured to the dresser where five coins lay.

"I don't fucking doubt you," Al said, moving over and pocketing the money, well aware it was more than likely the boy's first time. "And one of the other girls will be more than happy to earn every cent of those five dollars in any way you want her to."

"Leave him alone," Catherine said drunkenly, wiping her mouth. "He wants to fuck me, let him fuck me."

"You shut the fuck up," he told her. "Come on, son, let's go."

Adam looked between Catherine and Al, "But…"

"Don't make me get angry with you," Al told him. The boy needed no further encouragement. Re-buttoning his fly, he grabbed his jacket and hurried towards the door. "Dan Dority'll see you right," When the boy had gone, he turned back to Catherine, desperately trying to control the incandescent rage he could feel in his chest. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Taking Kitty's place," Catherine slurred. "I've been around enough whores to see how it's done. I don't give a shit what Trixie says."

He lifted her dress from the ground and threw it at her, "You're a fucking disgrace. Get yourself cleaned up and get upstairs."

"Fuck you," she replied, stumbling forward slightly. "I can do whatever the fuck I choose and I choose to fuck!"

"And I choose, due to the tragic circumstances of today, to let this incident pass without me giving you the hiding you so richly deserve!" he retorted.

"All talk and no fucking action," she said, taking another long swig from the bottle.

"What the fuck did you say?" he asked.

"I said, you're all talk and no fucking action," she repeated, squinting at him. "You always threaten to hit me, threaten to fuck me and yet…" she threw up her hands. "I ain't seen neither yet."

"Oh, so you want to get fucked then, do you? Huh? Is that all you're interested in? Because we can make that happen if you want it to, yes we fucking can." Al strode over to the door, locked it, then turned and advanced back towards her, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to one side on the floor. "Only I don't appreciate new girls giving it to the customers before they've given it to me," he continued, pulling down the straps of his britches. "I've had every whore in this joint and, by God if you want to be one, then I'll have you too." He slammed her back against the wall and finished the job Adam had started by ripping open her corset. Grabbing one pale breast, none too gently, he latched his mouth onto her nipple, causing her to let out a strangled laugh that evolved into a sigh and then a yelp of pain as he bit down on her flesh.

"Jesus Al…" she groaned.

"How fucking wet are you anyways?" he lifted his mouth from her chest and pulled her skirt up to her waist. Finding the crotch of her panties, he pushed them roughly to one side and slid one finger easily inside her. He felt her body accept it, clamp down on it and she let out a low moan of pleasure. "Wet as a fucking March morning." She groaned again, her body arching towards him. Dropping the whisky bottle with a clatter onto the dresser, she gripped the back of his longjohns tightly in a fist as he pushed his finger into her again and pressed against her. "How badly do you want me to fuck you?" he asked, his mouth at her ear, his own hardness digging into her side.

"Badly…" she whispered, "please…please do it…"

He withdrew his finger from her, took her by the wrist and pushed her over onto the bed. "You want me to fuck you like a whore, Catherine?" he asked, pushing down his pants and kicking them to one side. "I can fuck you that way if you want. Wasn't how I was fucking planning on doing it, but seeing as you seem so fucking eager…" he unbuttoned the flap of his longjohns and climbed on top of her.

"Do it…" she murmured, her head lolling on one side, her eyes closing.

"Fucking look at me then!" he ordered, grabbing her around the neck with one hand and forcing her face round to his, while the other pushed her skirt up again and dragged her panties down over her legs. Then he forced her legs apart and drove into her, causing her to cry out and buck against him. Taking a wrist in each hand, he pinned her arms above her head, using his entire body weight to grind into her, just like he had done with Trixie. Just like he did with every whore he fucked. And she groaned like a whore with each stroke, her hips rising to meet his, her breath hot on his face.

"Let…let me go…" she suddenly whimpered.

"Too fucking late," he growled in response. "You wanted it and you're fucking getting it the way I fucking like it."

"Please…please…"

"No." He continued to thrust into her, watching her face contort with a mixture of pleasure and pain, enjoying the fact that he was finally taking her, finally having her, like he should have done so many months earlier.

"Please…" she begged again.

With some hesitation, yet mindful he was stronger than her if the need arose, he released her arms. Rather than fight him as he had thought, however, Catherine merely used the advantage to slide further down the bed under him and lift her legs higher to curve around his back. The deeper angle caused Al to let out an involuntary growl of appreciation coupled with surprise as she used her newly freed fingers to tear at the buttons on the front of his longjohns, pull the material down and bite him gently, yet firmly, on the shoulder. He yelped with pain, then grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her back, poised to strike her, only to see flushed cheeks and liquor shined eyes, her lips curved into a smile.

"Fucking cunt," he growled, angry at her for being drunk, angry at her for being willing to get fucked and angry at himself for not fucking her sooner. Then he kissed her hard, forcing her lips apart and sliding his tongue into her waiting mouth. She kissed him back, willingly and appreciatively as he pounded harder into her with the approaching onslaught of his release. He wasn't one for uttering words of praise during sex, particularly given that there had been very few occasions in recent years when the other person deserved it, but had he felt so inclined, he would have told her how good she felt under him, wet and willing…

"Don't stop," she moaned breathlessly against his mouth. "Don't fucking stop…"

If he had had any sort of control, Al wouldn't have stopped. He would have kept on fucking her until his body wore out. But there was no control over it, nothing he could do to stop the white heat building inside him. Seconds later he spurted inside her, the fluids from both their bodies creating a tepid stickiness that he could feel run down the inside of his thigh as their movements slowed. He withdrew from her and rolled over onto his back and to his surprise, she moved her body over and wrapped herself around him, her head resting on his chest, her body rising and falling quickly in time with his own.

For what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality perhaps only ten minutes, Al lay staring at the ceiling, involuntarily stroking Catherine's hair, until he realised that her breathing was steady and that she had fallen into a post-coital, liquor induced sleep. Gently, so as not to waken her, he manoeuvred his body out from underneath her, laying her back on the pillows. He dressed quickly, then pulled the bedclothes up and over her body, taking care to lift the whisky bottle as he left.

Dan and Johnny were at the bar when he emerged and though they said nothing, Al could tell by their expressions that they knew what had transpired within. "Give her an hour to sleep it off," he instructed, "then wake her, get her fed and get her to her own room."

"Yes boss," Johnny said.

"And another thing," Al said, turning back, his expression hard. "If either of you ever let her go into a whore's room with the intention of fucking any old hooplehead that comes through that door again, you'll both feel my knife across your throats." They both nodded their understanding. "Jesus Christ…" Al sighed, "What a fucking day."


	10. Chapter 10

April 2nd 1876

"Three funerals in as many weeks as a result of incidents in the Gem. You're certainly proving to be my best customers."

Al watched as Andy Cramed drained the last of his coffee and thought, not for the first time, how smallpox could have done the camp a favour had it claimed another victim. Oh, the man may have found religion and become a so-called paradigm of virtue, but Al couldn't forget his previous associations with Tolliver. "It ain't deliberate, I assure you," he said by way of reply.

"Of course not. I wasn't meaning to suggest…" Andy tailed off on the other man's look.

"In fact, your gain comes at Mr Wu's loss."

"Yes…It must be difficult for Miss McCord, I should imagine. Having been so involved with all three deceased, I mean." Al said nothing. "Well, a short service tomorrow followed by the burial should be adequate." He made a brief note in the little black pad he had taken out earlier in the conversation. "Do you have any preferences as to hymns or readings?"

"Whatever you think appropriate."

"Of course. And…what about family?"

"She didn't have any."

Al turned in his seat in time to see Catherine coming down the stairs into the bar, wearing a dress of deep blue, a white shawl around her shoulders, the bold colour of her dress only serving to highlight the pallor of her complexion and the circles under her eyes. It was the first time he had seen her since the previous afternoon when he had left her side. He knew Dan and Johnny had had to carry her to her own bed and, with her being that intoxicated, he wondered how much she really remembered of what had transpired between them.

"There was no-one," she emphasised as she approached the table.

"Well…all right then." Andy put his pad and pencil back into his pocket. "Tomorrow at twelve." He stood and put on his hat, touching the brim briefly and giving a slight bow, "Miss McCord."

"Reverend. The girls are going to want to attend the funeral," she said once he had left, not looking at Al. "As do I."

"I ain't going to stop any of you from attending if you want to."

"Good." She hovered beside him. "I'm…sorry. About what happened yesterday."

"Kitty dying weren't your fault," Al replied, though he knew fine well that wasn't to what she was referring.

"I didn't mean that," Catherine said. "I meant…the other thing."

"Other thing?"

"Getting drunk and…well…with the McSween boy."

"Well, consider yourself fucking lucky I came along when I did and saved you from that boy's inexperienced fumblings," Al said, as colour flooded her cheeks. She remembered. The very sight of it made him recall how she had looked, lying under him, and he felt his prick harden at the memory, at the same time that his heart starting to inexplicably pound.

"Mmmm…" she looked uncomfortable, "About that…"

"How you feeling this morning after all that liquor anyways?" he interrupted her, knowing that he wasn't quite ready to discuss it with her.

"Oh, my head hurts and I vomited in my piss pot when I woke up. Sorry Jewel," Catherine apologised as the other woman appeared with a plate of breakfast for Al.

"I'm used to cleaning up shit in here," Jewel replied, putting the plate down on the table and shooting Al a knowing look. She turned to the other woman. "You want some breakfast?"

"No," Catherine said, quickly.

"Might help you feel better."

"I couldn't eat a fucking thing. My stomach's all in knots…" she trailed off. "Too much whisky, I guess." Jewel shuffled back off to the kitchen and Catherine made to sit down in the chair opposite Al.

"Whisky order needs done."

She stopped and looked at him. "Reckon looking at that's guaranteed to make me sicker."

He speared a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth. "Still needs done."

"Fine," she replied, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I'll do it and leave it on your desk for your final fucking approval." Then she turned and strode back the way she had come. He continued to eat as her footsteps died away only relaxing once he knew she had gone.

"She looks not too bad," Johnny expressed from the bar, "given how drunk she was, I figured we wouldn't see her til lunchtime."

Al didn't say anything. He was glad that she was all right, but he hadn't liked the look of embarrassment mixed with uncertainty he had seen on her face. If she regretted it, if she wished it had never happened, if she was repulsed by the memory of him fucking her, then he knew that he would rather not know. He would rather things simply went back to the way they had been before, and that they need never speak of it.

XXXX

Doc finished packing up his kit, got to his feet and turned to look at where Catherine was standing leaning against the wall, supervising as he examined the girls. "You look like shit," he commented.

"Jesus, Doc, and you wonder why you ain't wed," she replied acerbically, self-consciously pulling her shawl tighter around her.

"How much did you drink last night?"

"How do you know I drank anything?" she challenged. He merely raised his eyebrows at her. "I ain't sure. At least a bottle. I passed out in one of the rooms after…" "After what?"

Catherine looked away. "It don't matter."

"You know…" Doc said, "if you want to talk about anything, I'm a good listener." She looked at him sideways, "Being a doctor means discretion's my middle name."

"Ladies, go on out, we'll be opening soon." She directed the girls out of the room and waited until the door had closed behind them before speaking again. "Doctor you may be, but you're also in Al's employ and I ain't fool enough to think that he wouldn't try and get information out of you if he thought it would be to his fucking advantage."

He looked slightly offended, "I ain't scared of Al, Catherine. Anything you elected to tell me, concerning him or otherwise, would remain between us. I'd like to think you knew that." She didn't say anything. "Something's clearly bothering you and I'd wager it's something more than Kitty's loss."

Catherine paused. She so desperately wanted to share with someone the feelings that had been plaguing her since she had woken up that morning in her own bed, unsure as to how she had got there. As she had lain staring at the ceiling, willing the pain in her head to subside, memories had slowly started to come back to her. The feel of his skin against hers, his tongue in her mouth, his prick inside her…when she had first seen him that morning, she had felt so confused. She had wanted to speak to him about it, to find out how he viewed it, how he viewed her. But by sending her away to do the whisky order, she had felt dismissed, unimportant…as though it had been nothing at all.

She sat down in a chair and sighed heavily. "After Kitty died, I felt guilty about not seeing what was wrong with her and I had a lot to drink and…"

"And…?"

"And I thought that it was only fair I take her fucking place."

Doc stared at her, "Tell me you didn't."

"I was in a room with Adam McSween of all fucking people, willing to accept his five dollars and Al…Al stopped it."

"Well thanks be to Christ he did," Doc said. "The worst thing you could do is start down that path, Catherine, no matter how much misplaced guilt you feel."

"I know."

"So what did Al do?"

"He told Adam he could have one of the others and…and I must have said something about it because next thing I know…Al's fucking me instead."

Doc set his jaw grimly, "He forced you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, "No, I mean I…I guess I didn't know what he was doing at first but…but I wanted him to, Doc, I really did! I have for so long, longer than I think I even fucking know." She stood up and walked over to the window. "After everything that happened with Daddy and then Baker and how he helped me face Bullock I…I found myself feeling things that I'd never thought I'd feel before."

"Well, excuse me from stating the fucking obvious, Catherine, but you are a woman and it would only be natural to have such feelings…"

"I don't mean feelings about fucking," she interrupted him. "I mean, I do have those but…I mean other feelings, Doc."

"I see," he nodded. "Have you talked to Al about this?"

She shook her head, "Practically sent me away this morning to do the fucking whisky order. Seemed as though he could barely even look at me. Finding me the way he did with that boy probably only made him think that I'm just like the other girls and that's why he did what he did. I don't know if he knows or cares how I really feel and even if he did, how would I ever be able to…" she sighed again, "now…I don't know what to do."

"Well I ain't proffering no expertise in the area of feelings a woman has for a man and vice versa," Doc said, "but what you are going to do now is lie down and let me take a look at your privates."

"What good is that going to do?" Catherine asked.

"It'll give you peace of mind that your body's all right even if your heart ain't." He looked at her meaningfully, "but I will say this. You ain't going to feel any better about this until you talk to him, one way or the other."

XXXX

Al was leaning over the balcony facing the bar when Doc emerged from the whores' room closely followed by Catherine. He watched as she crossed the room and left the Gem by the front door without so much as glancing in his direction.

"Everything all right, Doc?" he called down.

Doc looked up, "Girls are fine."

"Come up to my office," Al said, "there's something I want to discuss with you." Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed into his office, resisting the temptation to venture out onto the balcony and see where Catherine was going. Lifting out a bottle from his desk drawer, he had two glasses of whisky poured by the time Doc joined him. "Drink?"

"Thank you," Doc replied, putting down his kit.

"So…" Al said as they both sat down, "the girls are all right then?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary to report today."

He nodded. "And…uh…what about Catherine?"

"What about Catherine?"

"Well she was pretty upset about Kitty yesterday, had a bit too much to drink and almost got herself into a situation she would have later regretted…" He met the other man's gaze, wondering if he knew to what he was referring. "…if I hadn't been there to stop her."

Doc didn't say anything for a long moment. "She's upset, but she'll be all right."

"Upset about Kitty?" Al pressed.

"What I discuss with my patients is between me and them," Doc said. "If you want to know the cause of Catherine's upset, you'll have to speak with her yourself."

"So there is something upsetting her beyond Kitty dying."

"Al…" Doc got to his feet. "I'm saying no more on the subject."

"Jesus fucking Christ…" Al grumbled as Doc moved towards the door.

He stopped suddenly and turned back. "Except this. That girl can, and will, do a lot better for herself, unless someone convinces her that the best is already in front of her."

"Well what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means," Doc replied, "and now I bid you good afternoon."

XXXX

"Mind if I join you?"

Al turned as Catherine stepped out onto the balcony beside him. It was late evening and she had unpinned her hair, causing it to fall around her shoulders like a cascade of fire in the lamplight. "Not at all. Tired of walking the floor downstairs?"

"Reckon the walk I took earlier wore me out. Besides, it ain't busy," she replied. "The boys can handle it." She looked down, "Every time I turn around I keep expecting to see Kitty."

"That'll pass. You know, a few weeks after your mother died," he said, "Travis thought he saw her on the street one day. Was so convinced of it, he went right on up to the woman he mistook for her. Even though he'd been there as your mother drew her last breath, had placed her in her coffin himself and helped bury her…he still thought she had somehow risen."

"What happened?"

"Oh, he realised quick enough it wasn't her, called himself crazy and carried on about his business. Never did happen again, at least not in my presence." He looked sideways at her, hoping she had taken his meaning in telling the story. "It'll pass."

"Daddy was never the same after Mama died," Catherine sighed, looking out over the town into the hills. "I know I was only young when it happened, but I noticed the change. He never smiled or laughed as much…sometimes I think he forgot I was even there."

"He never forgot you were there," he reassured her quickly, "But no man that loved a woman as much as Travis loved Evelyn ever could be the same again. Nettie took pleasure at the time in telling me that she was jealous of Evelyn, despite her being dead, for the grief Travis felt at her passing."

Catherine turned to face him. "You wouldn't have felt the same if Nettie had been the one to die instead?" Al shook his head. "But she was your wife. Surely you must have loved her some time?"

"Love ain't really an emotion I subscribe to," he replied, meeting her gaze and noticing a sudden flicker in her eyes that he couldn't identify. "I liked her well enough when we wed but…she was hot tempered and mean with it. I admit she endured slaps from me over the years, some of which were perhaps undeserved, but she wasn't shy in striking the first fucking blow herself."

"I guess I don't really remember," she said. "I would have been…ten…when she left?"

"Sounds about right," he replied, trying not to dwell on how much her comment highlighted the difference in their ages.

"Leaving aside your generous, yet self-serving, proposal of marriage to me…do you ever think you would marry again?"

"Why must we leave aside my proposal to you?" he asked, suddenly brought back into the moment. "Had you accepted, I wouldn't have reneged on the offer and would have installed you in my bed mere moments after being proclaimed your husband."

"A place which, at the time, I had no wish to be," she said quietly.

"At the time…" he echoed. "Tell me, seeing as you effectively raised the subject, reason enough before for you rejecting my offer was your downright dislike of me. Yet as I've commented in recent times, I'd like to think your opinion has changed these last months. If your answer to any proposal I may choose to make now remains the same as before, but for a different fucking reason, I don't think it unreasonable of me to enquire as to what that reason is."

She turned back to face him, her expression sad. "You said yourself that you liked Nettie well enough when you wed. But…I don't want to stand before the Lord on my wedding day with a man who just…liked me well enough to marry me. Every woman hopes to marry a man who loves her, who would grieve over her passing as Daddy did for Mama. I guess, despite all my talk, I ain't no fucking exception. And your sole aim when you asked for my hand was to ensure you had full control of this place, nothing more."

"And you think me incapable of more. Incapable of love?" he felt himself grow angry at her assessment of him.

She stared at him. "You just said yourself that love ain't an emotion you subscribe to. Besides, my previous dislike of you had a comfortable bedfellow in your dislike of me. Has that…" she paused, "has that changed?"

"I would have thought that to be fucking obvious!" He retorted, thinking of how he had behaved towards her in recent times. "Just because a man takes a view at one time on something don't necessarily have to mean that his view remain the fucking same in the hereinafter! Take Bullock for example."

She frowned at the turn in the subject, "Bullock?"

Al nodded, "When he and his Jew friend first arrived in the camp I found him to be disrespectful and arrogant. He came here with the notion that he would tell me how things were to be run in this camp rather than simply accepting that I, as elder statesman, had the final say. Now, as time passes, I find him rather more amiable. Not that I would suggest for one minute that we are anything more to each other than mere acquaintances whose first thought in the morning is not how one is to destroy the other." He looked at her and saw she still looked uncertain. "You take my point?"

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yes, I think so."

"And just because a man has, in the past, wed a woman with whom he shared little more than mutual cordiality does not mean that, with another partner, he may not find himself inclined towards a marriage based on something more."

"I suppose..." she said.

"And," he continued quickly, eager to divulge to her the one thing that had changed most noticeably in the last few weeks and to which he wasn't sure if she had taken heed, "if a man were to have found, or rather to perhaps think he had found, a woman with whom he believed such a state could at some time be achieved…he might take the view that regular visits by a whore to his bed were no longer appropriate. He might even have taken that view for some considerable time."

He saw her eyes widen and heard her breathing quicken. "All right…"

"And a man, having fucked such a woman as that who he believes he may harbour certain feelings for, may find himself anxious to discover whether or not said woman took that fuck to be merely that, or whether or not she may also…" he trailed off, trying to think of the right words, "she may also be of the opinion that certain feelings might…develop for that man. Given time and reason."

He stopped to draw breath and watched as the light behind him became reflected in the tears forming in her eyes.

"I think…" she said slowly before he could comment, "I think a woman who has held a particular view of a man for so long only to have it suddenly changed by his word and deed towards her, is bound to feel confused. And for such a woman to have allowed herself to be fucked by such a man only to find herself wishing for more from that man than merely a repeat of that physical act…" she stopped suddenly.

"Yes?" he pressed her.

"She may have found herself unsure how to say…how she felt, lest he be simply inclined to enjoy her embraces and nothing more." She paused. "But if he were to be declaring more…"

"He is."

"Then she would be a fool not to accept his affections and all that they entail." She blinked suddenly, and her eyes overflowed, sending tears streaking down both cheeks. "Fuck," she said, turning away, "I'm sorry, I...I don't mean…"

Al reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. "Don't apologise to me," he said softly, the full realisation of her words sinking in. "Don't ever fucking apologise to me for anything."

She turned back, "Never? Sounds like an order you'll forget issuing one of these days." She finished drying her eyes and handed him the cloth back.

"I assume you know that…well I was talking about myself when I said what I did."

Catherine nodded, "And I was talking about myself also."

"Good," he replied with relief, "I'd hate to think we were going to have a fucking misunderstanding here." She laughed and he cleared his throat, "You…uh…ain't expecting me to go down on one knee or anything, I hope, cause that ain't really…"

"No," she said quickly. "Of course not. I can't really think of anything fucking worse."

"Thank Christ for that. Drink?" he gestured inside and she nodded, stepping in front of him and allowing him to close the balcony doors behind them. He moved over to his desk and poured two glasses. "Sure you can face it?" he asked, holding one out to her and realising that his hand was trembling slightly.

"Perhaps just the one," she replied accepting it.

"Here's to us," he said, holding his glass out in salute.

"To us," she echoed as they both drained them.

"And to you being sober next time I fuck you," he remarked wryly, sitting down in the chair.

Catherine set her glass back down, walked around the desk to stand in front of him and then, hitching up her skirt, slid herself onto his lap, one leg either side of his waist, her pelvis pressed snugly against his. "I'm sober now," she whispered, lowering her head so that he could kiss her.

Al slid both hands down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her tighter into him as his mouth moved over hers, then down her chin, her throat and into the crease of her neck, causing her to sigh with pleasure and then groan in the back of her throat as one hand slid between them, up under her skirts to feel where she was damp, whilst the other began working to unfasten the front of her dress.

"Yes," she whispered, shuddering slightly against his touch, as her corset loosened and she spilled out into his hand, full and warm.

He rose from the chair, bearing her weight in his arms, and laid her back on the desk, pushing papers onto the floor in the process. The whisky bottle smashed and the pungent smell of alcohol rose quickly into the air. Neither noticed, nor cared however, as he pulled open both sides of her corset and bent over her across the desk to take one upturned bud into his mouth, laving it with his tongue as though it were coated in rich honey.

"Boss! Boss!" The office door suddenly swung open and, looking up, Al saw Dan framed in the doorway, his expression turning from concern to shock and back again.

"Don't you know how to fucking knock?" he declared, straightening up and pulling Catherine up off the desk and into him so that what was left of her modesty was protected.

"I'm...sorry boss but there's a problem," Dan said.

"What sort of fucking problem? What the fuck could be so important as to interrupt us?" Al asked, as Catherine turned her back on the intruder and began re-fastening her corset.

"Uh…well…I didn't know that you were…uh…"

"Dan! Suspend your shock at what you've just witnessed and speak!"

"Sorry boss, but it's just that…there's a magistrate down in the bar who says he needs to talk to you urgently."

"I don't know any fucking magistrates," Al replied.

"Well, this one says he's from Yankton…and that he's got a fucking warrant for your arrest."


	11. Chapter 11

As Dan's words sank in, Catherine looked at Al and saw him freeze for an imperceptible moment. Then he nodded, as if his subordinate had just told him the state of the weather. "Get him a drink, put him at a quiet table and tell him I'll be right down." Dan nodded, cast a final glance in her direction and then left, closing the office door quietly behind him. She watched as Al reached into the desk drawer, pulled out his knife, sheathed in leather, and secreted it in the waistband of his pants. "Stay here," he said.

"No," she said, and he turned to look at her. "No. I'm going with you." He opened his mouth to respond, to clearly rebuke her, but then seemed to think better of it and merely nodded. Opening the office door, he allowed her to leave first and as she stepped out onto the balcony, she looked over and could see Dan shepherding a well-dressed gentleman to a table under the stairs.

"Let me do the talking," Al said. She nodded but said nothing. She was desperate to ask if he knew what the warrant referred to but knew that now wasn't the time. They made their way down the stairs only to be greeted by Farnum.

"Al, I must speak with you urgently," he said.

"Not now, E.B." Al replied.

"But there are developments in camp which require your immediate attention!"

"I said not now!"

"But…"

"Fuck off Mr Farnum," Catherine said, as calmly as she could. He looked at her as though in shock at her language, but before he had time to recover, Al had moved over to the table where the Magistrate sat and she hurried in his wake.

"Magistrate," Al greeted him as they approached the table.

"Joseph Claggett," the man replied, rising from his seat and extending his hand. "I assume you must be Al Swearengen."

"You assume correctly," Al replied, returning the handshake. He half turned to where she was standing behind him and put his hand on her waist. "This is Catherine McCord."

Claggett looked somewhat surprised, but he took her proffered hand and kissed it. "A pleasure I'm sure." They all then sat down at the table. "You intend for the three of us to be party to this discussion?" he said.

"Nothing you can't say to me that you can't say in front of her," Al replied as Dan appeared with a bottle and three glasses. "My associate tells me you have a warrant in my name." Claggett nodded. "May I see it?" Al finished pouring the drinks and put the bottle down on the table.

"I don't have it on my person, but I'm aware of its existence. I'm sure you're well aware of the content."

"Refresh my memory."

"Seamus O'Hara, murdered in Chicago September 1st 1875. Knife in the guts." Claggett glanced quickly at Catherine, as though concerned he might be offending her delicate sensibilities. "You were responsible."

Catherine glanced sideways at Al who initially said nothing. His expression betrayed neither thought nor feeling and for a moment, there was simply silence at the table.

"Do you deny it?" Claggett asked finally.

"Now Magistrate, it wouldn't be very fucking smart of me to pass comment on my guilt or innocence in your presence now, would it?"

"I suppose not." He turned his attention on her again. "And what of you, Miss McCord? Are you in Mr Swearengen's employ?"

"I'm his partner," she replied coolly, lest he should think her a whore.

"Really?" he smiled superciliously. "And whoremistress, I presume."

"You presume correctly."

"Assuming of course," Al said, steering the conversation back to its original purpose, "that my intention is to have this warrant lifted as opposed to necessitating any form of judicial intervention…what would that cost me?"

Claggett drained his glass. "As I'm sure you appreciate, the lifting of a warrant is not something that can be done lightly. Various factors come into play and certain…desires…have to be fulfilled."

Catherine felt herself shudder at his words and looked to Al for his response. At that moment, however, Johnny approached the table and touched her shoulder. "Dolly's asking for you," he said quietly when she looked round.

"Tell Dolly I'm busy," she hissed in response.

"Go on," Al said.

Unwilling to leave at such a crucial point in the conversation, she visibly hesitated, but he nodded encouragingly to her and she felt there was no other option but to rise and leave. "What the fuck does Dolly want?" she hissed to Johnny once out of earshot.

"How the fuck do I know?" he replied. "She's in her room."

"Five thousand dollars," Claggett said as Catherine walked away.

"And what does that buy me?" Al asked, pouring them both another drink.

"The warrant lifted and, consequently, your life." Al nodded his agreement. "You seem to have a thriving, if somewhat low rent, establishment here," Claggett said, looking around.

Al bristled slightly at the criticism.

"Your girls are somewhat…" he trailed off as he followed Jen's walk across the floor.

"Very fucking popular," Al finished for him. "And for you Magistrate…" he held out his glass, "the pussy of your choice is free for the evening."

"Very kind," Claggett said, raising his glass in thanks. "I must say, however, I'm more tempted by your whoremistress."

Al froze, glass halfway to mouth. Claggett's gaze was focused somewhere over his left shoulder and he could only imagine the subject on which it had fallen. Placing his glass back down slowly on the table, he half-turned in his seat in time to see Catherine cross from the bar towards the whores' rooms. "I'm afraid she ain't included in that offer," he said, turning back around.

Claggett's eyes hardened, "Most whoremistresses like to keep their hands in."

"This one, never having been a whore herself, sees no need to."

"You did say, the lady of my choice."

"I said pussy. She ain't pussy. Now them..." he pointed to where a couple of the girls were lounging near the door. "…they are pussy and any one of them would be more than happy to cater to your needs."

"You disappoint me, Mr Swearengen," Claggett said, draining his glass. "I would have thought a man like yourself would have placed a high price on his continued good health and freedom. I doubt you'd make a pretty sight dangling from a hangman's noose."

"Oh, I'm already paying a high price, Magistrate," Al replied. "Five thousand dollars and one of my whores for free is more than many a man would get out of me for something as trifling as a murder warrant I've yet to even see."

Claggett smiled and got to his feet. "I have business to attend to in Cheyenne but I'll be returning here in a week's time with the warrant. If you're prepared to accept my terms, I shall expect all payment…all payment…to be waiting for me."

"And if it ain't?" Al enquired, rising also.

"You're a man of the world, Mr Swearengen, I'm sure you know the answer to that question without my needing to verbalise it." He held out his hand. "I'll forgo your kind offer of pussy for this evening." Al made no move to return the gesture. "Well, good evening." With that, Claggett lifted his hat and moved towards the door.

XXXX

"I'm sure it's nothing," Catherine said to Dolly, somewhat impatiently. "But I'll have Doc come and look at you tomorrow morning before the funeral."

"I'm sorry Catherine," Dolly said, "I just don't want to end up like Kitty."

The mention of the other girl's name made Catherine soften. "I know," she said, "I'm sorry if I haven't shown the proper fucking interest. There's things going on right now and…" she sighed. "Finish up for the night and get some rest. If you get any more pain, you come get me, all right?"

Dolly nodded, "All right."

"All right then." Catherine left the room as quickly as she could and hurried back into the bar to find both Al and Claggett gone. "What's happening?" she asked Dan who was clearing the table.

"Al's in his office," he replied.

"And Claggett?"

"Left bout five minutes ago."

She turned and hurried up the stairs, along the corridor and pushed open the office door to see Al stood at his desk. Relief at him being in one piece flooded her, though she had really never doubted it. "What happened?"

"Oh, he wants five thousand dollars to make the warrant disappear," he replied, pouring himself a glass of whisky and downing it in one, "blackmailing cocksucker. As if that mick bastard didn't deserve what I gave him all those many months ago."

"Are you going to pay him?"

"Course I'm going to fucking pay him. Then once I have the paper in my hands, I'll consider whether or not, as a parting gift, I want to slit his throat." He paused and looked at her. "He wants something else too."

"What?"

"He wants you."

"I don't…" she trailed off at the eventual understanding of the meaning of his words. "I see. Why?"

"Why not? You're a beautiful woman and he thinks that being in possession of the fucking warrant entitles him to come into my establishment and demand pleasure from whichever woman he pleases. He found you more fucking palatable than any of the other girls apparently."

"And…if you pay him the five thousand, and he gets to fuck me, then he'll hand over the warrant?"

"He'll hand over the warrant on payment of the five thousand and nothing more," Al replied, sitting down in his chair. "Not if he doesn't want to feel my blade against his neck."

Catherine thought about what it would be like to lie under Claggett. To give him the moments of pleasure that he craved from her and to receive an assurance of Al's life in return. Though the prospect of the act repulsed her, the motive did not, and there had already been too much death. "I'll do it."

"Do what?" he asked, somewhat distracted by a paper on his desk.

"Let Claggett fuck me." Al raised his head and looked at her. "Not because I want to, of course, but…surely it's the easiest option all round? A few moments of him….grunting on top of me and it's over. He gives you the fucking warrant and that's an end to it."

Al was silent for a long moment. "I appreciate the offer, but no."

"But…"

"I said no, Cathy. Despite the character attributed to me and tasks appointed to others in this joint to which you have borne witness, I ain't asking you…"

"You ain't asking, I'm offering."

"No!" Al slammed his fist down on the desk, causing her to jump. "And I don't want to hear another fucking word on the subject, you understand?" She nodded, a pain starting in her chest as she watched him rub one hand over his eyes, as though caught in a situation from which he saw no escape. She moved over to his side of the desk and held out a hand to him in solidarity and comfort. He stared at it for a moment, as if unsure as to its purpose and then took it in his own. "We're to be married by the time he returns," he said, his voice softer.

This new revelation surprised her almost as much as the one about Claggett. Though she had suspected matrimony would come in due course, she hadn't envisaged it coming quite so soon. "Any particular reason why?" she asked. "You think Claggett wouldn't insist on bedding me if I'm your wife on his return?"

"For a man as deeply unprincipled as he, I doubt your marital status would have any effect whatsoever on his demands," Al replied, smoothing his thumb over her palm. "There are other, equally as important, reasons for my decision."

"Like what?"

He cast his eyes around the room, "Like this place."

"You wish to hasten your full ownership of the Gem?" she asked, meaning to sound light, but failing to keep a derisory tone out of her words.

He met her gaze and frowned. "I was thinking more along the lines of ensuring that you were in a position of full ownership of the Gem in the unlikely, but possible, event that matters with the Magistrate take an unfortunate turn and leave you my widow."

"Oh…" she said, feeling immediately ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I told you not to apologise to me," he interrupted her. "Besides…there ain't nothing about this situation that you need concern yourself about." He pulled his hand from hers, stood up and walked over to the open balcony doors.

Catherine stayed where she was for a long moment, leaning against the desk, looking at his back, torn by the possible meaning of his words. Was it that he didn't think it her place to be involved or was he simply trying to protect her?

"I think you'll find it is my fucking concern," she said finally, "especially if I'm to be your wife." He didn't say anything. "Whether you live or die is perhaps the biggest fucking concern I could have. Why do you think I would offer myself as a whore for Claggett if it wasn't?"

Al turned back to face her, "And yet not so very long ago you might have welcomed the prospect of my death."

"As you would have mine," she reminded him, frowning as a flicker crossed his face. "But things change Al, as we both know. Now, I don't think I could bear the thought of…" she trailed off, embarrassed that, at the fragile start of their relationship, she might have said too much.

"I know," he said and, for a split second, she saw her own feelings mirrored in his eyes. Then, with seemingly well-practiced ease, they slid into more familiar territory. "But, right now," he said, moving back over towards her, "I'm inclined to finish what we started earlier."

XXXX

"On the desk?" Johnny exclaimed, eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Course I'm fucking sure," Dan replied. "I ain't likely to mistake the sight of Catherine on her back on Al's desk and him kissing her tits for anything else now am I? You know as well I do what happened yesterday in that room and clearly it's going to keep happening."

"What's going to keep happening?" Silas asked, walking over to where they were standing.

"According to Dan, Al and Catherine have started fucking," Johnny explained.

"Don't you look all surprised," Dan said on Silas's look of shock. "You've known as well as us that it was bound to happen one day. Well now it has and you can be damn sure that things around here are never going to be the fucking same again." He downed a shot. "That is, if Al don't get arrested on the warrant that magistrate was talking about."

They all stood in silence for a long moment, considering that possibility.

"Why wouldn't things be the same?" Johnny asked suddenly. "Al's fucked women before and nothing's changed."

"We're talking about Catherine," Dan replied. "She's his partner, there's a lot more at stake. Besides…" he trailed off.

"Besides what?"

"Besides, Dan reckons it's more than just fucking," Silas said, meeting the other man's gaze. "Am I right?"

"For once, Adams," Dan said. "You are."

XXXX

The bed smelled of him, but not in an unpleasant way. In a comforting and familiar way that made her feel safe, secure, needed and wanted. There was a chill in the room that brought goosebumps to her flesh. Or was it simply nerves, or excitement? Al was unbuttoning his longjohns, his eyes never leaving hers. She herself had felt self-conscious as she had undressed in front of him, fingers fumbling over hooks and buttons as his gaze had bored into her, his fists balled at his sides as though desperately trying to restrain himself from simply ripping her clothes from her body. But Al displayed none of the hesitancy she had felt. Longjohns swiftly removed and kicked to one side on the floor, he moved towards the bed and pulled back the cover she lay under to slide in beside her.

Almost immediately, his mouth found hers, his tongue seeking, finding and then rubbing against her own as cold fingers slid down her body to the juncture of her thighs. Brushing over the auburn curls, she gasped as they probed upwards into her warm wetness and she found herself arching her body towards him. He kissed her harder then moved down her neck, teeth scraping at the skin, to her breast where the warmth of his mouth closing over her hardened nipple caused her to whimper.

Silently, he continued to work her, her hips rising to meet the thrusting action of his fingers as his thumb rubbed over her swollen nub sending shivers through her body. Tangling her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, she pulled his head back up to hers and met his mouth with a fierce passion of her own that she could tell surprised him. Gently, yet firmly, he pushed her thighs further apart, moving himself on top of her so that she could feel his hard prick press against her pelvis. As if mindful of the last occasion, he lifted his head to meet her gaze questioningly and she nodded her willingness. Then he pushed inside her and she heard herself cry out as he flooded her senses. His fingers curled around hers, holding her arms against the bed by her head and yet, the action made her feel unified with him rather than restrained by him.

He started to rock back and forth inside her, slowly at first, then increasing in speed as her body opened to accept him and her slickness eased the passage. He kissed her again, then moved to the crease of her neck where she could feel his hot breath. The slight shift in angle caused the bone of his pelvis to rub deliciously against her and she groaned softly in appreciation. He buried his face deeper into her neck as his thrusts became more anxious and she could feel the murmur of unintelligible words against her skin.

"Yes…" she whispered as she felt a tingle start in her groin and slowly start to work its way through her.

Al lifted his head suddenly, raising himself so that she was forced to look up at him as he drove harder into her. Beads of sweat had broken out on his brow, and slipping one hand from his grip, she reached up to push a stray strand of hair away from his face. He caught the hand in his own, turning the palm to face him and gently biting at the flesh there.

"Oh…God…" she felt the orgasm start to move through her at the very moment Al chose to roll under her, pushing her on top of him. Instinctively, she reached out to grab the cool iron of the headboard above his head as she ground her pelvis into his, ably assisted by his hands on her waist. Spots danced before her closed eyes as it overwhelmed her and she heard an animal like sound tearing from her throat as she clamped down hard around him. Breathless, she remained atop him, feeling him twitch violently and thrust once, twice, three times upwards before she felt the warm sensation of his cum fill her.

They remained as they were for a long moment, Catherine seemingly unable to find the strength to move. When she finally opened her eyes and looked down, she saw Al looking up at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I'd wager that's the first time you've fucking come like that," he said breathlessly.

"Then you would leave the victor," she replied. Slowly, she slid up and off of him, laying herself down on her stomach, her head against his chest and his arm around her back. "And I'd be grateful if you would ensure I come like that every fucking time."

"A man can but try his best."

As they lay together in silence, listening to the noise of crickets in the evening air, she found herself comforted by the steady thud beneath her ear. "I always knew you had one," she said.

"One what?"

She kissed his chest softly. "A heart."

His arm tightened around her. "Don't fucking tell anyone."


	12. Chapter 12

April 8th 1876

He could well remember the day that his mother had left him at the orphanage, armed with only one change of clothes and a few dollars in his pocket. The image of her, patting him on the shoulder and wishing him well before she hurried off to what the naïve bitch thought would be a better life for herself sucking prick in Georgia, was always there behind his closed eyes. Most times he could banish her at the first sign of her creeping into his psyche. A shot of whisky, a fuck, even some banter with EB and she was usually gone.

This night, he hadn't been successful and as he stood at his bedroom window, looking out across the camp, her face was as clear and vivid as though she had only just left him.

"You'll do fine, Albert," his mother had told him. "Better than I could ever do for you." Before he'd even had time to respond, to tell her that she was making a huge fucking mistake, she had been gone and the matriarchal figure in his life had been replaced by none other than Fat Mrs Fucking Anderson.

Fat Mrs Fucking Anderson.

He would never forget that woman as long as he lived. The way her stained dress stretched over her abundant rolls of fat, her dirty hair pulled back in a severe bun and the foul stench from her rotting teeth as she leaned over him, intent on having her way. She had pocketed his meagre sum before his mother had even disappeared from view and he had found himself thrown into a freezing cold dormitory with nine other boys who looked equally as stunned as he at the sudden change in their circumstances.

That first night…he closed his eyes at the memory. The sound of the door opening, of hurried feet approaching his bed...the feel of the covers being pulled back and his prick being unceremoniously grabbed... He had tried to make a noise, something, anything to alert someone to what was happening, but no sound had come out of his mouth. He had just lain there in the dark, his eyes screwed shut, until he had ashamedly come. Then, as quick as she had appeared, Fat Mrs Fucking Anderson had scuttled away again, like a creature returning to its lair after feeding.

Every night it happened to at least someone. He would try not to listen to the familiar grunts of the other boys as she carefully selected that night's victims. He would pray, though he had never really believed in God, that her footsteps would not draw closer to his own bed. Sometimes, God would hear his prayers and sometimes he would not and on the nights when he didn't, he would lie there and think about something, anything other than what was happening to him.

Gradually, as the weeks became months and the months became years, he came to accept it as his lot, aided in no small measure by the bottles of whisky he had stumbled across one evening under the fat cunt's bed and carefully siphoned back to the dormitory for himself and the others. The liquor tasted like nectar and it wasn't look before his days took on a comfortable haze that blocked out the true horror of what had become his life…

"Al?" he turned suddenly from the window, jolted from his thoughts at the sound of Catherine's voice but could barely make out her features in the dim light. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," he replied shortly. "Go back to sleep."

"I would, but I think I need another fuck first. By my calculations, we're a fuck down on previous nights."

He could hear the warm, welcome teasing in her voice, could feel without touching the familiarity of her skin and yet he knew he couldn't return to her side whilst his mind was so pre-occupied with dark thoughts of the past. He continued to stare out of the window at the empty thoroughfare, trying to remind himself of where he was and what he had now. Mrs Anderson was gone, she could never touch him again and yet, all these years later, he still shivered at the thought of her.

"Here," he heard the springs on the bed creak, then the padding of her bare feet as she came around the bed. The next moment, he felt the warmth of the knitted quilt that normal lay atop the bed thrown around his shoulders. "If you're going to insist on standing here staring out at the fucking street at least don't freeze to death." She hovered beside him. "You want to tell me what the fuck's going on?"

"No."

"Is it Claggett?"

"No."

"Is it the wedding? We don't have to go ahead tomorrow, you know."

"It ain't the fucking wedding," he replied, derisorily. "You really think insomnia would strike because of a fucking wedding?"

"Fine," she said, her tone clipped. "Well, I'm tired, so I'll just go back to bed and rest and you can stand here all fucking night if you like."

He heard her return to the bed and remained in silence by the window until her breathing became regular and even and he could return to his previous thoughts. He remembered the one time he had talked about his experiences in the orphanage, leaving aside any thoughts brought forth during the course of having his prick sucked by a whore. A year after they had been married, he had told Nettie, a revelation brought on by too much liquor and a small hit of dope. Once he had started talking, he hadn't been able to stop himself. Everything had come tumbling out, from his mother to Mrs Anderson, to what he had done…everything.

He remembered Nettie's face, how pale she had become, how her lip had quivered at one point with what he had mistaken for sympathy. Instead, once he had said everything, unburdened himself of it all and was in need of her comfort, she had told him that it was disgusting and that they would never fucking speak of it again. For as little as he had liked her, from that moment on, he had hated her. But, more than that, he had hated himself for being so stupid and weak-willed as to believe that anyone, least of all a woman, could understand what had happened to him there. He had vowed then, never to speak of it with anyone of any consequence.

"Let no-one judge me save those in little position to do so," he repeated the words to himself. Glancing over at Catherine's sleeping form, he couldn't help but wonder if she too would have reacted as Nettie had. He didn't know but had no intention of finding out. The thought of seeing the same revulsion on her face that he had seen on Nettie's was too much to bear.

A sudden tiredness swept through his body and he moved away from the window and back over to the bed, casting the quilt to one side in the process. As he pulled back the duvet and slid back in beside her, Catherine turned in her sleep away from him towards the wall. He lay staring at her for a while until, as if he had somehow willed it, she rolled over again towards him, her face at his shoulder. He lifted his arm and she subconsciously moved closer into him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her back and hold her to him in an unconscious apology.

The heat from her body flooded him and, in the comfort of her embrace, he fell asleep.

April 9th 1876

Johnny, staring up at the closed office door, was the first to ask the question that they all had wanted to ask and yet knew fine well the answer to. "It's gone nine. What the fuck are they doing in there?"

"What the fuck do you think they're doing in there, Johnny?" Dan replied contemptuously from his position behind the bar. "They're getting married today so they're making sure they get every last bit of good fucking done before then. Cause you know what they say about fucking after you're married."

Johnny frowned, "What do they say?"

"They say it's shit. Once you're married, it's never the same again. Nowhere near as good." Dan shook his head. "Quite frankly, that's the one thing that would stop me from getting married; knowing it was going to be shit forever after."

"Ain't stopping Al."

"Yeah well…" Dan started rubbing his thumb along a crack in the bartop. "For once calling Bullock cunt struck, he's sure as hell heading down the same path. He's never away from her side, he's always…touching her…" he shook his head. "They've been holed up together in his office for the best part of a week…"

"He loves her," Johnny said, nodding.

Dan visibly shuddered, "If you say so."

"You should be happy," Silas piped up from the corner. "Them getting married ought to make things more pleasant round here."

"Ain't nothing wrong with how things were before. Al's always been a man's man. One of us. Our boss. Now he's…"

"I ain't never been to a wedding before," Johnny interrupted. At that moment, the office door opened and Al came striding along the balcony, pulling on his jacket. "Happy wedding day, boss!"

"Thank you Johnny. May the sun keep shining or her upstairs will have something to say about it. Where's the gimp?"

"I got a fucking name, you know," Jewel replied as she came into the bar carrying breakfast plates on a tray.

"I'm sure you do," Al said, heading for the door. "Full breakfast for the bride, if you would be so fucking kind, and make sure Trixie gets over here to help her get ready."

"Well where the fuck are you going?" Dan asked.

"Got to pay a visit to Bullock and then to Wu," Al replied, "and no, I don't need your company." Once out of the saloon and into the fresh morning air, he took in a deep lungful and let it out slowly, pushing away all the dark thoughts from the previous evening at the same time. Catherine had still been sleeping when he had left the bed and he could only hope that the harsh words exchanged between them could be forgotten.

As he approached the hardware store, he saw to his relief that Seth appeared to be alone. There was no need for the Jew or Trixie to witness the conversation. "Morning Bullock," he greeted him as he stepped inside.

"Morning," Seth replied. "Congratulations on it being your wedding day."

"Thank you," Al said. "But spare me your wishes for a long and happy life together. I'm too old for all that fucking nonsense and too wise to know it ain't worth shit, this not being my first venture into matrimony."

"All right," Seth smiled, "assuming you ain't here to ask me to be your best man, what can I do for you?"

"I need your signature as witness to this document," Al said, producing a sheet of paper from the inside of his jacket and passing it to the other man. He had spent most of the previous evening drafting and re-drafting it, keeping it hidden from Catherine, which had been no easy task given how randy she had become of late.

Seth smoothed it out and read it. "You know I ain't no lawyer."

"Bullock, if I'd wanted a lawyer, it would have been easy enough for me to find one. You're the camp's sheriff and I find myself more and more inclined to place in you a modicum of trust, hence my asking for this favour."

Seth read the words again. "Is there some sort of catch?"

"Why would there be a catch?"

Seth looked at him, "The fact that, whilst being mere hours away from a union which, in theory, provides you with full ownership of the Gem you would wish this document witnessed and signed must beg the question."

Al took the paper back from him, placed it on the table and affixed his signature at the bottom with a flourish. "Perhaps I am not quite the man you take me for," he said, holding the pen out. Seth paused briefly, and then added his own name as witness. "I want you to keep this, so as I can never deny its existence. A man never knows what he might do under pressure."

"Agreed."

"Good!" Al turned for the door.

"What about Catherine?"

Al turned back, "What about Catherine?"

"Does she know the content of this document?"

"She doesn't even know it exists and she won't unless it becomes necessary. I trust you can keep a secret?" Seth nodded. "That's just what I wanted to hear. Two o'clock remember. I know Catherine would be most troubled if you didn't attend."

"I doubt that very much, but I'll be there."

Satisfied, Al left the hardware store and made his way back along the thoroughfare towards Chinks Alley and his second appointment of the morning. As he passed the Gem, he looked up at the window to see the curtains still drawn. "Lazy cunt," he murmured good-naturedly, before hurrying on his way.

XXXX

Catherine had always wondered how she would feel on the morning of her wedding. Having never really been in a position before to imagine marrying anyone, her feelings towards any prospective groom had always been difficult to pin down. Would she feel happy or would she feel scared? Would she be worried that she was making a mistake or would she be sure in her decision? Even as she sat in front of her dresser mirror, having left Al's bed on her awakening and returned to her own room, her mind was still full of conflicting thoughts, buoyed by their brief argument the previous night.

It was hard to imagine that a man whom she had so despised so few months ago was about to become her husband. That she cared about him was clear. This past week, when they hadn't been indulging in carnal pleasures, she had found her eyes instinctively seeking him out, following him around the Gem. Excuse after excuse was made to be in his office simply to be satisfied that he was there and that he was well. The thought of something happening to him at Clagget's hands made her breathing quicken, her chest tighten and every protective instinct within her surface. Was that love?

That she desired him was also clear. Alone with him, she found every nerve in her body tingling, her body straining through her clothes, her pussy damp with anticipation. With every touch she melted into him and, as their unions had continued, a rhythm had developed between them that was ultimately so satisfying. But was that love?

A part of her still felt wary. Too many years spent observing him from a distance and up close. Too many arguments where she had projected defiance but had in reality felt fear. Too many times when she had seen things happen that she wished she hadn't. Too many blades, too much blood. But to be able to overlook all of that…was that love?

A sudden knock at the bedroom door startled her and she turned around in her seat. "Come in!"

The door opened and Trixie appeared. "I've been summoned to help the bride prepare herself."

Catherine laughed, "Is there no fucking end to your talents? From whore to bookkeeper to wedding dresser?"

"How you feeling?" Trixie asked, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"All right."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Ain't too late to back out, you know," she said, "no papers signed…nothing's legal…"

Catherine met her gaze, "You think I'm making a mistake?"

"I think you need to be sure. You ain't just marrying anybody, you're marrying Al Swearengen. That comes with a price and you have to be fucking willing to pay it no matter what."

"What's that?"

Trixie smiled wistfully, "You don't need me to fucking spell it out, Catherine. How many times have you said you hate him, or wished him dead?" Catherine looked away. "Ain't so very long ago that you were saying you would never marry him for convenience and now here you are marrying him for…" she paused, "love?"

Catherine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, "He ain't what you think, not really. I know…I know that he ain't always been the nicest or the kindest, especially to you girls, or even to me, and I'd be a liar if I said that I haven't wanted to stick a fucking knife in his guts on one or two occasions but…" she shook her head, "lately…"

"You can't explain it?" Catherine shook her head. "Well, as long as you remember that once you're wed, it's that much fucking harder to run, then how you feel's good enough for me." Trixie stood up and opened the closet door. "So, what dress are you planning to marry him in?"

XXXX

"Wu…Swidgen…hangdie."

"Yeah," Al nodded in agreement, though he was rapidly losing patience. "Wu and Swidgen…hangdie. Look Wu, I don't got all fucking day. Do you have it or not?"

"Wu." Wu nodded, a smug smile across his face. "Wu for Swidgen."

"Well fucking give it…give it…" he gestured, "to me and Swidgen….gives you money." Wu nodded and disappeared towards the back of the meat locker. "Jesus fucking Christ…" Moments later, he returned holding a small white package. "It better not be fucking damaged." Wu looked confused. "Just…just give it to me." He took the package and unwrapped it, pleased to see the contents were intact. "Good Wu, here's your money." He handed the Chink a pile of notes. ""Swidgen is very happy."

"Wu…Swidgen…hangdie."

"I have to go now because I'm getting married today," Al said. "I go…" he gestured, "get married." Wu nodded. "You have no idea what I'm fucking saying, do you? Thank you Wu." Without waiting for any further conversation, Al turned and left the meat locker, finally heading back towards the Gem, the precious package tucked into the inside of his jacket. The last thing he needed was some fucking hooplehead out to make a quick buck meeting his end on the blade of his knife today.

XXXX

"You look real pretty!" Jewel exclaimed as Catherine stood in front of the mirror critically eyeing herself. "Why ain't you worn that dress before?"

"Because it makes me look fucking fat!" Catherine exclaimed, smoothing the material down over her hips.

"Jesus Christ, you do not look fat!" Trixie snapped. "You're as thin as a fucking telegraph pole for fuck's sake. Besides, the colour suits you best out of all them dresses you've tried on and it's the fanciest one you got by a fucking mile. You ain't going to get married in some dress you've walked the floor in, are you? Here." She pulled the other woman round to face her and started fiddling with the neckline. "You look fine, see?"

Catherine turned back to the mirror and looked at herself again. The dress was deep purple with a low enough neckline to look alluring but not low enough to look like she was for sale. It was fitted around her waist and then flowed out from her hips down to the floor. It was made from heavy taffeta and she had forgotten she even owned it until Trixie had found it at the back of the wardrobe. "It does look..."

"You look fine," Trixie repeated impatiently, pulling her over to the dresser. "Now sit and let me do your hair."

"What the fuck are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to pin it up and make it look pretty! Trixie replied. "Jewel's going to help me." She grabbed a fistful of Catherine's locks and started twisting. "Hand me those pins, Jewel."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

"We're fucking busy!" Jewel shouted.

"Open the fucking door!" Al called back by way of reply.

"For fuck's sake!" Trixie exclaimed, striding over to the door and pulling it open. "You ain't allowed to come in. It ain't right to see the bride before the wedding!"

Al rolled his eyes, "Jesus Christ, I fucked her last night! I left her in my bed early this morning! I think we've already broken whatever ridiculous tradition you're fucking referring to.

"It's all right Trixie," Catherine said, "let him in."

"Thank you," Al said, as Trixie stepped none too graciously aside to allow him into the room. "Now, would you two mind fucking off and letting me speak to Catherine alone please?"

"We ain't finished getting her ready."

"Five minutes!"

"Fine," Trixie said, "come on Jewel." The two women left the room, slamming the door hard behind them.

Catherine got to her feet and turned to face him. "Is everything all right?" Her words were hesitant, recalling the response she had received when she had asked the same thing the previous night.

"Fine," he replied, in a tone that indicated he had sensed her unease and wished to dispel it. "You look...very well," he nodded. "Colour suits you."

"Thank you."

"I wanted to give you this," he said, holding out the package he'd collected from Wu.

She eyed it suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Open it and find out. But don't get too excited."

She took it from him and pulled back the paper to reveal a pearl necklace with an emerald stone dropping from it like a tear. Stunned, she stared at it for a long moment, memories flooding back to her. "It's…"

"Your mother's." Al nodded. "After she died, Travis didn't want to sell it, though the money might have come in fucking handy. Wanted to keep it for you one day and didn't trust what might happen to it if he brought it out here. Probably didn't trust me around it either. He put in a safe place in Chicago for…well, probably for today. I sent for it several weeks ago and it arrived this morning, courtesy of Wu, some Chink couriers and a hell of a lot of money."

"I remember Mama wearing it on Sundays," Catherine said. "Only ever on a Sunday. She told me it was too pretty for regular days." She met his gaze, "thank you."

"Well, it's yours now," Al said, turning for the door. "Wear it, sell it, whatever you want to do with it."

She turned it over in her hand, a thousand emotions flooding her. For him to do this, to think of the one thing that she had forgotten, but which meant so much to her to have, and to think of it for this day out of all days…her earlier doubts now seemed to fade into the background. The price Trixie spoke of was worth the paying.

"Al." He stopped and turned back to face her. "I…"

"If you're going to cry, at least wait until I've left the fucking room," he interrupted her. "Guess I'll be seeing you downstairs shortly." Before she could reply, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

"Might I say Al that I don't believe I have ever seen you look more handsome. Clearly the prospect of matrimony suits you!" Al glanced at Farnum out of the corner of his eye as he finished tying his cravat in front of the mirror. "That isn't to say, of course, that you are not ordinarily handsome, but on this most joyous day for you and Miss McCord, you look even more..."

"All right, E.B," Al sighed, "Your overenthusiastic flattery is noted and I thank you for it, but what the fuck is your point?"

Farnum's face fell from the ebullient smile he had been wearing to a more worried countenance. "I most likely should not be troubling you with this on today of all days…" he said in a tone which indicated entirely the opposite.

"E.B…"

"Hearst's geologist, Wolcott, returns to camp. Spends a great deal of time at the Mrs Ellsworth's diggings by all accounts. I fear, Al, it may not be long before the man himself is upon us and then Lord only knows what will transpire."

"Calm and patience E.B. No point in panicking over an event not yet taken place."

"But his intention may be to take over the entire camp!"

"And if we were to let him to do that without so much as standing up to be counted in the inevitable battle then we should deserve him to do so," Al said, moving over to his desk and taking out a bottle of whisky. "But, as you so rightly pointed out, this is my wedding day and I have other, more pressing, matters on my mind."

"Oh..." Farmum paused, "I did not think that aspect of marriage would give you cause for concern, Al. I assumed that you and Miss McCord had already shared a bed." Al stared at him. "Unless...that wasn't to what you were referring..."

"Goodbye E.B."

"Yes, well...I suppose I shall see you downstairs momentarily." Farnum backed off towards the door. "Once again, thank you for the kind invitation to the ceremony and congratulations."

As he scuttled away back into the belly of the Gem, Al considered how it was that Farnum had come to be amongst the honoured wedding guests when he, Al, could not recall inviting him. It was simply yet another one of those occasions when the hotelier had managed to inveigle himself into a position of knowledge without ever being asked if he cared to be so.

As he glanced at the clock and saw that the hands were at ten minutes from two, he thought about what was to happen now. Only ten minutes until he had a wife's care to consider along with his own.

Catherine's care.

The ceremony itself did not faze him. Had he not stood before a man of the cloth some twenty five years earlier and pledged his life to a woman he had known full well he would not grow old with? A quiet word in Dan's ear and Andy Cramed had been left in no doubt that this was not a wedding where sermons had to be preached. The sooner the spectacle was over, the better as far as he was concerned, and then Catherine's care and wellbeing would be in his hands for the rest of his life, or indeed until she came to her senses and divorced him as Nettie had.

In the week that had passed since they had declared themselves to each other, he had seen her true feelings towards him become reflected in her daily gaze. The lust-filled glint he had grown so accustomed to seeing had been slowly replaced by a warm sparkle that left him in no uncertain terms that her heart was his, whether he wanted it or not.

And to his eternal confusion and bewilderment, he wanted it. He wanted her there, he wanted her happy and, most of all, he wanted her never to know the truth about what had happened to her that night in the alleyway. To consider and reflect upon it only made him shift uncomfortably in his seat and wish that time could be turned back. And yet, had he not witnessed her after the attack, not seen how strong she had tried to be whilst feeling so vulnerable, he may never have come to think of her as he now did. He knew now, though, that regardless of how one could describe his feelings for her, he never again wanted her to be placed in harm's way.

Which was why he had no intention of accepting her kind offer to fuck Claggett.

The magistrate was on his mind, and had been so for some time. Whether it was because of his new found feelings for Catherine or not, he had little desire to kill the man. He hoped that the five thousand dollars on offer in addition to a night with one of the girls would be enough to send Claggett back to Yankton with no ideas of ever returning to Deadwood for more. He knew, as he had said to Catherine, that her new status as his wife would mean little to the other man if he was hell-bent on having her and, if that were in fact to be the case, he would have to consider using his blade.

Before he could think on it further, the door opened and Dan appeared. "They're ready for you downstairs," he said quickly, making to close the door again.

"What the fuck is up with you?" Al asked, voicing for the first time his suspicions that his right hand man was less than happy with the sudden turn of events.

"Nothing," Dan replied pettily.

"We've known each other too long for you to think I'll be satisfied with such a response. Say what you have to say and let's be done with it."

"All right," Dan said, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him. "I think you're making a big fucking mistake, boss, if you want my truthful opinion."

"I do."

"Few weeks ago you couldn't stand the very sight of her, wanted her hurt, wanted her out of camp and now…now…you're only going and fucking marrying her. Not, as it may previously have been expressed, through a desire to own the Gem outright but through a desire for her!" Dan shook his head. "Things is changing round here and I don't believe altogether for the better."

Al sighed, "My taking a wife does not change…"

"Taking her as your fucking wife does!"

"Will you let me fucking finish?" Dan nodded sullenly. "My taking a wife does not change how things will run around here. I will have full ownership of this place and I will be in charge. You take your lead from me as always and rest your head on the pillow at night safe in the knowledge that the fact an amiable match has been made between myself and Catherine does not detract from that." He got to his feet. "I could cast her out tomorrow if I so choose and there wouldn't be anything she could do about it."

"But you won't," Dan said.

"No," Al shook his head, "I won't. But there are bigger issues affecting the camp right now for you to apply your mind to. Magistrate Claggett returns tomorrow intent on relieving me of five thousand dollars and my soon-to-be wife's virtue, and it appears that we may soon have the pleasure of George Hearst himself in the camp." Al looked at Dan pointedly. "Leave what happens between Catherine and myself to me. Understand?"

"Fine," Dan opened the door again. "Like I said, they're ready for you downstairs."

Al glanced at the clock on the wall as the hands slipped to two o'clock. "All right then."

XXXX

Getting married in a saloon had not been how Catherine had envisaged her wedding day when, as a young girl, she had had cause to envisage it, but when Trixie came to her room to tell her that it was time, she couldn't imagine having it anywhere else. The Gem was her home, a place that had become her sanctuary and, exchanging vows with the man she now knew she loved in its grimy bar, seemed wholly appropriate.

Checking her appearance one final time in the mirror, she left her room and made her way along the balcony towards the stairs where the girls had formed a line up for her to pass through.

"Thank you for doing this," Dolly whispered as she walked past and though she wanted to correct the other girl, she continued walking. Let her think she was marrying Al out of some misguided sense of loyalty to them. Let them all think that if they wanted. As she descended the stairs and turned to look at where he was waiting for her beside Andy Cramed, she herself knew the truth and recognised he did too. She barely saw those who had been invited, or who had had cause to invite themselves. Trixie, Bullock, Farnum…all she could focus on was Al and the promises she was about to make him. As she crossed the floor towards him, she saw his eyes fall to the necklace and a small smile play at the corner of his lips.

The ceremony itself was brief and to the point. There was no long-winded sermon on the virtues of marriage and no flowery declarations of love. It was ideal. They were two people coming together for reasons they need explain to no-one else. A promise made, a ring slipped on her finger and a chaste kiss brought the whole matter to its conclusion. Then the bar was opened, the liquor began flowing and the Gem reverted to its normal course of business as though nothing had transpired.

"Ain't how you imagined it, I would guess," Trixie opined as she and Catherine sat at a table in the corner, a half empty bottle of whisky between them.

"You mean, where's my fucking hog roast?" Catherine said with a laugh. "I ain't concerned about that. Last thing I'd want is to be centre of attention for the whole day, everyone watching and commenting. This way, it's done and half the folks in camp probably don't even know."

"News travels fast. Saw Harry Manning on my way over here this morning looking mighty fucking glum."

"Can you honestly see me married to him?" Catherine asked, pouring them both another drink.

"No, but I bet he could."

"He's a nice man, I'll grant you, but he ain't for me. I reckon I only had dinner with him that one time to…" she trailed off, almost embarrassed by the real reasoning.

"You don't have to fucking say it," Trixie rescued her. "And we'll never speak of him again, long as you're happy."

Catherine glanced over to where Al was talking to Merrick and met his gaze. "I reckon I am."

"She's quite a catch," Merrick said as Al returned his new wife's look with a smile. "One of the most handsome women in the camp I would venture to say without fear of contradiction."

"That she is."

"Pleasant, intelligent, graceful…"

"I take your fucking point, Merrick," Al said, silencing his friend. "What news of Hearst?"

"Only what I've heard from around the camp," Merrick replied. "And I've seen his geologist wandering around from time to time no doubt reporting back to the man himself on how he finds the camp."

"Hmmm…" Al mused, pouring them both another drink. "Intuition tells me it won't be long before we get a call paid on us."

"You sense trouble?"

"When it comes to Hearst, yes. Keep me posted on any information that you gather on that very subject."

"You know I would, Al, without fail."

"Good, now if you'll excuse me," Al said, lifting the bottle, "I have a new wife to fuck." Leaving Merrick blushing at the bar, he made his way over to the table where Catherine and Trixie were, the latter rising as he approached and making her excuses. "Mrs Swearengen."

"Mr Swearengen."

"Won't you accompany me upstairs for a time?" he held out his arm to her, which she rose and accepted, and led her back upstairs to his office, closing the door on the raucousness below which had increased tenfold since someone had struck up on the piano.

"I thought it a very appropriate service," Catherine said.

"You didn't mind that it didn't go on for an hour with us both declaring undying love for one another?" he joked, taking two glasses out of his desk, filling them and handing one to her.

"No," she smiled, "not at all."

"Dan seems very concerned as to how things may change around here now that we're wed," he continued. "I believe he thinks your influence on me will make me liable to lose my edge."

"I doubt I have such influence over you," she replied, perching on the end of his desk. "I can't imagine you changing your ways simply because I now happen to wear your ring."

"I'm glad you see it that way," he said, clinking his glass with hers and downing the contents.

"I do simply hope, however, that you will listen to any opinions I might have on matters and at least consider them before discarding them and following your own path," she said meaningfully.

"And what is it you have an opinion on?" The words were barely out of his mouth before he realised to what she was referring. "I have made my feelings clear on that matter, Cathy, so don't even fucking bother."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" she protested.

"I know precisely what you were going to say and the answer is still no."

"I fail to see how my getting fucked once by another man…"

"You, who has so much experience in that department, of course," he interrupted her mockingly. "You, who regularly lies on her back and opens her legs for any and every hooplehead in the camp. You, who could practically be called a whore yourself. Don't be so fucking naïve!"

"Al…"

"You have no idea what it's like to live that kind of life as those girls you care so much about do! You have no idea what it's like not to be in control of your own body, to not be able to say no, to have to lie there and let someone else, who cares nothing for you, use you in that manner…" he broke off before he could say too much, as he could see a quizzical frown forming on her face. "I am as grateful now as I was last week for your offer, but my answer remains no." He refilled their glasses. "We won't speak of this again, understand?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Good." They drained their glasses and, for a moment, a heavy silence hung over the room. She kept her eyes cast down at the floor and he struggled to understand what she might be thinking. Was she relieved that he hadn't changed his mind, angry that he wouldn't reconsider her offer, or worried about what might transpire? "Come here," he said, finally.

She stood up and moved over towards him, her gaze uncertain. Reaching out, he took the empty glass from her and put it on the desk. Then he gently turned her and pushed her back against the wall, covering her body with his own and, with his gaze never leaving hers, reached down and started to pull the heavy material of her dress up to her waist.

"Al…" she laughed.

"What?"

"Anyone could come in…" her weak protests were silenced by his mouth over hers, his tongue sliding between her lips to find her own while cool fingers eased themselves between her skin and the elastic of her panties. Instinctively, she found her own fingers straying to the zipper on his pants, lowering it slowly and then easing open the buttons on the front flap of his duds, allowing him to spill out into her hand, warm and hard.

"That's the kind of fucking wife I expect you to be," he murmured against her mouth.

"What kind of wife's that?" she replied playfully.

"The kind who knows what to do with her husband's prick."

She began running her hand slowly, yet firmly, up and down his shaft. "Like that?"

"Exactly like that." He moved to the soft flesh of her neck and bit down, causing her to whimper at the same time as her panties slipped down her legs onto the ground and his fingers were free to test her desire. "Wet," he whispered in her ear.

"Always," she replied softly. Shifting her weight back, she lifted her left leg towards his waist. He caught it and held it there, manoeuvring his own body to allow himself to push up inside her, causing her to cry out and bury her face into his neck as he slowly started to fuck her. For a moment, all that could be heard above the sound of music and laughter from below was their own shallow breathing, until he felt her tighten and move towards a release and her gasps became soft moans of pleasure.

"Everything's going to be all right," Al said suddenly, pulling back from her so that he was looking into her eyes as they continued to move together. "I promise everything's going to be all right." She nodded and closed her eyes as her orgasm rippled through her, followed swiftly by his own and, as they held each other up against the wall, he vowed that it would be.

April 10th 1876

Deadwood woke the next morning to a torrential rainstorm that battered against buildings and canvas and turned the thoroughfare into a river of mud. As she stood at the doors of the balcony, watching as traders tried their best to set up their wares and miners trudged mournfully towards the diggings, Catherine shivered in the morning air. It wasn't even that cold and yet she felt as though her blood was slowly turning to ice. She had been wakened for hours and had lain staring at the ceiling until the hour had been appropriate enough for her to rise.

Turning, she saw that Al still lay sleeping, his body spread-eagled across the whole bed and from under which she had had to wriggle free. Aside from their encounter after the ceremony, they had only fucked on one other occasion the previous night, hard and fast, when Al had grabbed her from behind and thrown her onto the bed. He hadn't said a word to her, save for grunting in her ear as he came inside her and as she had lain beside him afterwards, she had told herself it was only natural given how gentle their most recent encounters had been that he should want it that way. Not that she had minded of course.

Shivering again, she closed the doors, lifted her shawl from the end of the bed and slipped out of the office and downstairs into the bar. It was deserted, being too early even for Dan, Johnny and Silas to be around, though she could hear noises from the kitchen which she assumed were down to Jewel. Stepping inside, she saw the other woman busying herself with the breakfast.

"Morning Jewel."

"Morning," Jewel replied, "I'm making the breakfast. You want everything?"

"Just eggs and bacon for me thanks," Catherine replied. "Can I help you?"

Jewel looked at her, "No."

"All right."

"Why would you want to help?"

"I was only offering."

"I don't need any help."

"Fine, I'm sorry I fucking asked!" she snapped. "You want me to leave you to get on with it, I fucking will!" She didn't wait for any response and made her way back out into the bar. Davie hadn't done too good a job of clearing up the other night and there were half empty bottles and glasses littering the tables. The sight made her angry, so she moved up and down, collected them and putting them down noisily on the bar, before lifting a cloth and wiping each table in succession.

"Bit early for that, ain't it?" she turned to see Dan standing behind her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"No-one else seems to be willing to do it," she replied.

"This part of your new role as mistress of the Gem?"

"I don't know, Dan, you tell me," she turned to face him. "Seeing as you're so concerned about what's going to happen now Al and I are fucking married."

Dan looked uncomfortable, "I ain't said nothing…"

"Don't fucking lie."

"You on your monthly or something?"

"Fuck you," she replied, throwing the cloth at him. "You fucking do it." She turned and stomped back up the stairs and back into the office, stopping herself at the last second from slamming the door. Pausing for a second to calm herself, she made her way over to Al's desk and pulled out a bottle from the lower drawer.

"Going through my fucking desk when you think I'm asleep ain't something I'd be inclined to encourage in a wife." She started and looked up to see Al on his feet, buttoning his duds after clearly visiting the piss pot. "Nor do I enjoy waking to find you've left my bed."

"I apologise on both counts," she replied. "May I have a drink?" He nodded and she poured herself a glass, downed it, poured another and downed it before recapping the bottle and sliding it back into the drawer.

"Better?"

"I suppose, though I can't seem to do anything fucking right at the minute. Help offered is refused or questioned with suspicion. I offer to help Jewel make breakfast and she looks at me as though I've lost my fucking mind."

"Why were you…?"

"I start to clear up the bar and Dan acts as though I've no business even being down there," she continued, ignoring him, "and as for you…" she gestured carelessly in his direction. "Well, you've got it all fucking figured out, ain't you?" She saw him set his jaw grimly and knew he was about to rebuke her. "And don't even fucking bother telling me you don't want to hear it, or to leave it alone. Al Swearengen can handle it, well…" she shook her head. "Forgive Catherine Swearengen for being ever so slightly fucking concerned about the whole thing! Forgive me for not wanting to see any more dead bodies in this place, especially not yours!"

"You think I can't handle Magistrate Claggett if he comes at me?" Al demanded, moving over towards her. "You have that little faith in my ability to protect myself, or you for that matter?"

"No, of course not…"

"Then shut your fucking mouth and let me handle this, Catherine, or I swear I will shut it for you! Love you I may, but rest assured that won't stop me from striking you a blow if I thought it for your own good!"

She stared at him, the threat of violence going straight over her head. Had he really just said that he loved her? She saw the realisation of his error dawn in his eyes and he looked away.

"You do your part by acting as gracious hostess to Claggett when he arrives. More than that, you leave to me. I won't fucking tell you this again." His voice was quiet, yet firm.

"All right," she said finally. "I trust you."

"Good." He moved back into the bedroom and started dressing for the day.

Catherine remained where she was for a time, simply watching him, wondering if she should return the sentiment. It seemed partly ludicrous when he hadn't made the declaration directly to her and yet partly appropriate, lest he be under the impression that his revelation filled her with anything less than happiness. In the end, she settled for making her way back into the bedroom to do her own toilette, dropping a kiss on his shoulder as she passed, yet not pausing to see how he had received it.


	14. Chapter 14

Magistrate Claggett's reappearance in the Gem caused little interruption to the activities of most of the patrons that evening, who clearly saw him as nothing more than another fairly well-dressed gentleman come to partake of the available pleasures. But for those to whom it mattered, the sight of him walking through the front door caused a ripple of tension that only they could sense.

Catherine was standing on the balcony, looking down at the main bar, when he made his entrance. Almost immediately, she felt her heart start to beat harder and faster in her chest, she felt her palms grow damp and her stomach turn over as though she was about to be sick. Her last hope, that he wouldn't return, died in that moment. He looked up, caught her gaze and touched his hat lightly, an action that caused her to turn away. Even though she wasn't to sleep with him, the thought of what might happen was still almost too much to bear.

She pushed open the office door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. Al, sat at his desk, looked up at her entrance.

"He's here," she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. Lord only knew why she was so scared, why she couldn't trust that everything would be all right. But a part of her couldn't help but feel that all of their luck was due to run out.

"Right on cue as expected," he replied, putting down his pen and getting to his feet. "Nothing if not punctual is our Magistrate."

Catherine hovered as he pulled on his jacket, then opened the lower drawer and took out his knife. She drew her breath in sharply, causing him to pause and look at her. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean…" She waited as he secreted it in the waistband of his pants. "I trust you."

"Glad to fucking hear it." Al slammed the drawer closed and walked around the desk towards her. "Shall we greet our guest?"

She nodded wordlessly and stepped out of the room, allowing him to close and lock the door behind them. Then she followed him, along the balcony and down the stairs to where Claggett was standing at the bar, keeping slightly behind.

"Magistrate Claggett," Al said, stepping forward and extending his hand.

"Mr Swearengen," Claggett replied, meeting it with his own.

"How nice of you to call on us again."

"I had every intention of so doing, as you are perfectly well aware." Claggett glanced past him towards Catherine. "Miss McCord looks as alluring as ever."

"Of course she does," Al replied, half turning and gesturing for her to join them. "Though I do believe she'd prefer to be referred to by her proper name."

Claggett frowned. "Proper name?"

"Mrs Swearengen," Catherine said, taking a deep breath and stepping forwards. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Magistrate."

Surprise crossed the other man's face, but he accepted her proffered hand and kissed it gently. "Mrs Swearengen," he echoed. "I confess I did not realise on my last visit that this lovely creature was betrothed to you, Al. May I say she looks all the lovelier for it."

Catherine fought down a rising wave of nausea as she firmly retrieved her hand from his grip.

"Oh she's seen a fair few things these last days I'll grant you. Will you have a drink?" Al asked.

"That would be most welcome, thank you," Claggett replied. "It was a long ride from Cheyenne."

"Perhaps you'd like to take a seat. Catherine, would you mind?"

"Of course not," she replied, grateful to be out of the other man's airspace. She made her way over to the bar, where Dan was waiting with a bottle of whisky and two glasses, whilst Al guided Claggett to a discreet table. "I feel like my heart's going to beat right out of my fucking chest," she said, resting her hands on the bar for support.

"Al can handle this," Dan reassured her. "You think he ain't never cut a throat before?"

"I know full fucking well he has," Catherine glared at him, "I just don't want him to have to do it now."

XXXX

Across the room, Al couldn't help but notice that Claggett's gaze never left Catherine as they sat down at the table to await their drinks. He watched the other man's eyes flicker as he took her in. He recognised the sentiment behind the look. Claggett was thinking about how many ways he could fuck her, where he would hold her, what he would say to her. It was a familiar ritual undertaken by most men in those moments before lying with a whore, or at least those who still had their faculties about them at the given moment.

"Congratulations on your match," Claggett said.

"Thank you."

"Interesting that you didn't mention your intentions last week when I explained mine."

Al shrugged carelessly, "Sometimes things have a way of sneaking up on you." Catherine chose that moment to arrive at the table with the drinks. As she set the glasses down, opened the bottle and poured from it, he could see that her hand was shaking. A quick glance at Claggett confirmed he had seen it too.

"Won't you join us as you did before?" Claggett asked as she made to move away from the table.

Catherine glanced quickly at Al, "No, thank you. My other duties command my attention." Before the words had barely left her mouth, she turned and walked smartly back over to the bar.

"Fine woman," Claggett said.

"Indeed she is."

"You've considered my proposal I assume."

Al nodded. "Five thousand dollars and the pussy of your choice in exchange for the warrant. I assume you now have it?"

"I do," Claggett tapped his top pocket. "I must say I'm glad you're amenable to my terms."

"Money's money."

"I meant my other term."

"The pussy of your choice, as requested."

"Define pussy."

"One of my whores."

Claggett sat back in his chair, "You know that's not what I asked for."

"That's all I'm prepared to offer you, Magistrate. I know my reputation precedes me but I would be no husband at all if I allowed you to fuck my new wife, now would I?" He held Claggett's gaze. "And I'm doubtful that your gaining such a reputation yourself for coveting thy neighbour's wife would be looked upon too kindly if you were to seek further office in Yankton."

"I thought your freedom and, indeed your life, were worth more to you, Al. Your wife is hardly going to find herself in a fortuitous position if you were to find yourself on the end of a rope, now is she?"

"Fortuitous enough," Al replied calmly.

"I assure you I wouldn't hurt her. A little...light relief is all I seek."

"You can have that with any one of my whores, them being all the more practised for it."

Claggett shook his head, "I'm not sure you fully comprehend what I'm saying, Al."

"Oh I do, Magistrate, I do," Al assured him. "Will you excuse me one very brief moment whilst I consult with my wife?" The other man nodded and Al got up from the table and moved over to the bar where Dan and Catherine were standing. "Man's determined," he relayed to them. "No doubt he believes I've excused myself from the table to order you to bend to his will."

"Then let me do it," Catherine said, "please. If that's all he wants, let me do it."

"No," he replied forcefully. "I'm going to take him upstairs to the office, give him his money and make one final attempt to appeal to his sense of reasonableness. If that fails..."

"You want me in there with my knife?" Dan asked.

"No," Al said, "I handle this one alone."

Catherine put her hand on his arm, "Al..."

"Not...another...word," he told her. She quietened, but he could see the fear in her eyes. "If blood must be shed let it be shed on my conscience and mine alone. If I'm still standing by the end of the evening I'll expect you to be amenable to an ass fuck tonight by way of thanks. If not, then I die unfulfilled." Before she could respond, he moved away from them back over to where Claggett sat watching. "Won't you accompany me upstairs to my office, Magistrate, in order that I can present you with your money and we can discuss the other terms further?"

Claggett paused for a brief moment, "All right." He rose to his feet and followed his host towards the stairs. As he passed Catherine, he nodded at her, "Mrs Swearengen."

Catherine felt bile rise in her throat, but she fought it down and nodded in return. Her eyes never left Al's form as he led Claggett up the stairs and along the balcony to the office. As he unlocked the door and opened it for the visitor to pass through first, he looked down at where she was standing and inclined his head ever so slightly. Then he was gone, the door closed firmly behind him.

Almost instinctively, Catherine ran her hand along her waistband, relieved to feel the hardness of her own blade secreted under her skirts.

XXXX

"A most charming office," Claggett observed as he stepped inside. "Well proportioned for all aspects of business." Al watched as his gaze fell on the bedroom. "Very well apportioned. I'm sure you and your wife make good use of the facilities."

Without speaking, Al moved over to the safe, unlocked it and pulled out two bags. Locking the safe again, he moved back to the desk and opened them so that Claggett could see the contents. "Five thousand dollars. Count it if you like."

Claggett smiled appreciatively, "I don't believe that will be necessary and I thank you for your prompt payment." Al gestured to the chair in front of the desk and he sat down. "Despite assertions to the contrary, Al, I've seen nothing but honour from you in our dealings so far."

"You flatter me."

"Now, as to the second order of our business…"

"Drink?" Al opened the desk drawer and pulled out a bottle and glasses. Uncapping it, he poured one and slid it towards his guest. "Perhaps, before we go any further, I may be allowed to see the warrant now?"

"Of course," Claggett reached into his top inside pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table.

Al lifted it, perused it and put it back down. "Who else knows of its existence?"

"A few others. But that being the original, even if others were minded to act on it, they would have nothing to act on. Now…" Claggett drained his glass. "Your wife…"

"Is not open to sale or bribe."

Claggett sighed and, reaching over, retrieved the warrant, "You disappoint me, Al."

"No, Magistrate, you disappoint me," Al said, getting to his feet. "You come into my joint telling tales of a murder warrant, demand not only five thousand dollars of my…hard earned revenue, but the pleasure of my wife's embraces in addition and then see fit to chastise me when I refuse to accede to you…" he tutted. "That isn't the sort of behaviour one might expect from a man in judicial office."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Claggett replied, in a tone that indicated he was anything but sorry.

"So am I," Al said, walking slowly around the chair where Claggett sat. "You must believe me when I tell you…" carefully, he pulled his knife from his waistband, "…that this gives me no pleasure."

Claggett frowned, "What gives you no pleasure…."

Al would never really know what went wrong. Whether he simply caught his foot as he lunged forwards, or whether the image of Catherine, desperate for there to be no more death, caused him to pause mid-action. But rather than his arm snaking around Claggett's neck and the blade sliding neatly across his throat, the other man had cause to realise what was happening before it did and he jerked off the chair, the blade simply nicking him.

Al lunged forward towards him again, sending the chair hurtling to one side and, as the two men took hold of each other, one in desperate surprise, the other in desperate determination, they both fell back against the desk, sending the whisky bottle crashing onto the floor.

XXXX

Catherine had been pacing nervously ever since Al and Claggett had disappeared into the former's office. Upon hearing the crashing sound, she felt her worst fears realised and she ran, without cause for hesitation, for the stairs, screaming Dan's name in the process. She knew he was only a few paces behind her as she pounded up the stairs and along the balcony and, when she threw open the door, saw to her horror that Claggett had Al in a headlock from behind. She could see her husband's face turning an explosive shade of puce, even in the few seconds it took her to register what was going on, and his arm plunging uselessly backwards in an attempt to strike Claggett with the knife.

"Stop it!" she screamed, rushing forwards in an attempt to get between them, but Claggett swung Al away from her violently and used his own weight to push her back towards the door, whereupon she crashed into Dan, causing him to stumble back out onto the balcony. Managing to stay on her feet, Catherine pulled out the knife from her waistband and was about to rush forward again, and hopefully kill the cocksucker, when Claggett suddenly released his grip on Al and sent him hurtling towards her.

In the days and weeks afterwards, she would relive the incident in her mind and always wonder if there had been anything she could have done differently. Could she have moved out of the way? Could she have dropped the knife? But there was no time. No time to think. No time to react. The speed and force of Al coming towards her, and the knife already outstretched in her hand, meant there could only ever be one, horrific outcome.

Silently, the knife slid into Al's stomach like it was sliding through butter. His shocked face was only inches from her own and the sheer weight of him caused them both to crash backwards against the far wall.

"Oh fuck, no…" she slid down the wall, taking him with her. "No, no…Al…" It was only as they hit the floor that she realised the knife was embedded and that she was still rigidly holding the handle. "Al? AL!" She screamed his name, pushing him gently away from her so that he rolled over onto his back on the floor. She let go of the knife, though she imagined she could still feel the hard wood in her hand. "No…no…NO!" she drew herself up on her knees above him, feeling her whole body start to shake uncontrollably. "Al…oh Jesus, NO!"

As she reached again for the handle, ostensibly to pull the offending article from her husband's chest, she heard Dan scream at her to stop and, looking up, saw him draw his blade swiftly across Claggett's throat. The Magistrate let out a gargled cry and then sank to the floor.

"Don't touch it," Dan said, his voice shaking, "You can't…you can't pull it out or he'll fucking bleed to death…"

"Get Doc!" Catherine screamed at Johnny, who was standing motionless with shock in the doorway. "Johnny, go now!" He darted out of the door. "God, I'm sorry…please…please I'm sorry!" She pulled Al's head into her lap, cradling it as he struggled for breath. "Please Al I'm sorry…I didn't mean…!" she looked up at Dan who was staring in horror at the scene unfolding before him. "Dan…"

"It'll be all right," he said unconvincingly, "it'll be…it'll be all right…"

"Please…" she sobbed, as Al lay looking up at her, her body shaking, only breathless, gargled sounds coming forth from him, "please don't die….please don't leave me…I'm sorry…"

"Where the hell is Doc?" Dan declared, running from the room as though he could no longer bear to watch.

"I'm sorry…you were right. I should have…listened to you…" Catherine cried, "please….please Al…" The sound of running feet made her look up and, seconds later, Doc burst rushed into the room followed closely by Johnny and Dan. "Doc…Doc, I killed him!"

"You did nothing of the kind," Doc said with distracted comfort. He put his bag down and knelt down beside her. "Let go of his head, Catherine. Let it fall back…all right…" He looked from Al's tortured face to the blade in his chest and back again. "Fuck me."

Catherine got to her feet. "I didn't mean it…I was just trying…"

"Dan, Johnny, we need to get him on the bed, now!" The boys hurried forward on Doc's order. "Ok, we're going to have to lift him as gently as we can so we don't dislodge the fucking knife, all right?"

Catherine moved out of the way towards the door, holding onto the frame for support as, on Doc's count, they lifted Al from the floor and carried him across to the bed. He let out long moans of pain with sporadic bursts of bloody coughing.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say again, "I'm sorry Al…" Then, she could bear it no more and, without looking back, turned on her heel and fled from the room.

"Cathy…" Al gargled, blood spilling from his mouth as he caught a glimpse of her fleeing from his new position on the bed.

"Don't talk, Al," Doc said as he listened to his friend's chest.

"She's…she's just gone downstairs," Dan said with faux reassurance, "don't worry, she'll be back."

"Cathy…"

"Al, you got to keep quiet," Doc said, lifting his head, "You got to let me take care of you!"

Al shook his head viciously knowing, even in his own desperate state, that by blaming herself, she had to know the truth. "Cathy…tell her…" he coughed and more blood spilled out.

"Get him to shut up while I prepare for surgery," Doc said to Dan. As he turned to move away from the bed, however, Al's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "Al! You're going to be fine, but you need to let me do my work here!"

"Cathy…"

"Dan told you she'll be back!"

"Die…" Al spluttered.

"You ain't going to die! In a minute, I'm going to give you something to knock you out and then I'm going to remove this blade, fix your insides and get you stitched up. I promise you, you are not going to die!"

"Maybe he could write something down?" Johnny suggested from the foot of the bed.

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny," Dan said uneasily. "Just…just let Doc do his work."

"If it'll shut him up, give him paper and a pencil," Doc said, releasing Al's grip on his arm. He moved over to the desk and started laying out his instruments. "And get a good hit of dope ready!"

Johnny grabbed paper and a pencil from Al's desk and hurried back over to the bed where he handed it to him. The convulsions of pain and the continual spitting of blood meant that Al could barely write but he knew that Doc was the one person he trusted with the information he was about to reveal. Determination won out and, moments later, Al held out the paper to him between shaking fingers.

"Maybe…maybe I should take it," Dan said.

Al ignored him. Loyal as he was, Dan was the only other person who knew his secret and he couldn't trust him to pass it on to the person who needed to know it.

Doc took the sheet from him. "You want me to give this to Cathy?"

Al shook his head and coughed again, "Read…"

Doc looked down at the scrawled words. The handwriting was almost illegible and the sheet was peppered with blood spots but finally, he was able to make out the words.

IF I DIE TELL CATHY SHE WAS ATTACKED UNDER MY ORDERS.


	15. Chapter 15

Catherine ran, not entirely sure where she was going, but knowing that she needed to get as far away from the Gem as possible. No longer her sanctuary, the place where she had thought she had found happiness, it had slowly become her own private hell. There was so much blood seeping through the cracks in the floorboards. Even the blood of her own husband and it was on her hands.

Tears blinded her as she traversed the thoroughfare, pushing roughly past men, women and children, some of whom called out obscenities after her. But she didn't care. She kept running, hearing Al's cries and seeing his shocked expression in her mind's eye. She had killed him. She had killed him! What kind of person was she? She hadn't been able to save her father or Kitty, she had killed Baker and now…now she had killed Al…

A particularly boggy part of the thoroughfare caught her off guard and, before she could stop herself, her foot sunk further than she was expecting and she pitched forwards into the mud, landing on her hands and knees. As she felt the cold, wet earth seep around her, she made no attempt to get to her feet, instead placing a mud-stained hand over her face and continuing to sob.

"Mrs Swearengen?"

She lifted her hand from her face and gamely tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks, oblivious to the mud-streaked tracks she was leaving on her skin.

"Mrs Swearengen, are you all right?"

Looking up finally, Catherine saw the concerned face of Joanie Stubbs standing in front of her, holding her own dress up and away from the mud. "I…" she struggled for speech, "I just…"

"Here, let me help you," Joanie stepped towards her, "Ain't as if any other cocksucker round here will." She held out her hand and Catherine took it gratefully, allowing the other woman to pull her to her feet, suddenly aware of all the other people simply staring at her.

"Th…thank you."

"We need to get you out of the thoroughfare and into some clean clothes. Can I walk you back to the Gem?"

"No!" Catherine exclaimed quickly, "No, I can't go back there. I'm sorry, I just can't…please…"

"All right, all right," Joanie comforted her, "Well, my new place is just around the corner. I ain't opened for business yet so there's no-one else there. You can…get cleaned up and get a drink…if you like."

Catherine was aware she barely knew the other woman, but she recognised a kind face when she saw one and anything had to be better than what was waiting for her back home. Nodding, she allowed Joanie to take her hand in hers and lead her out of the mud towards the Chez Ami.

XXXX

"How is he?"

Doc finished repacking his kit before he answered Dan's question. The other man hovered in the office doorway, shifting from foot to foot. The surgery had gone well, the knife safely removed with minimal blood loss and, while it had taken some time to ensure that Al's insides were intact, Doc was pleased with his work.

"He's sleeping."

"Is he going to be ok?"

"I'll know more by morning. If he ain't infected then he's got a good chance. Have the girls take it in turns to sit with him tonight and report any concerns directly to me." Doc tossed Dan a contemptuous look. "You might want to try and find Catherine too, let her know she ain't killed him. Poor girl's probably going out of her fucking mind."

"Oh…uh…sure."

Doc was about to make his way out onto the balcony, when he thought better of it, turned back to Dan and pushed him back into the office. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

Dan met Doc's gaze fleetingly and then looked away, "Don't know what you mean."

"What he wrote in that fucking note."

"I never saw the note. You put it in your pocket right after you read it. I don't know what it said."

"Don't piss me around, Dan," Doc said angrily. "If what he wrote is true, the one person he would have entrusted to carry those actions out would be you!"

"I never hurt her!" Dan exclaimed. "At no point did I ever lay fucking hands on her!" He paused as Doc's eyes narrowed and realised he had given himself away. "I found someone."

"Found someone?"

"To…you know…do it."

"On his orders?" Dan nodded. "Jesus fucking Christ…"

"There was good reason for it," Dan insisted. "She weren't going to sell her share and she weren't going to marry him so…so he figured…if she got a little scare…"

"A little scare? Jesus fucking Christ, do you remember what she looked like Dan? Black and blue, unable to stand…"

"It went too far! Al weren't happy with how it turned out. He didn't want it as…as bad as that."

"Well Al's a fucking son of a bitch," Doc said determinedly, turning back to the door "and that girl ought to know that."

"You…you can't tell her," Dan said, jumping in front of him. "It ain't your place, Doc."

"Don't you fucking tell me what is and ain't my place!" Doc growled. "Neither you, nor he, have got the moral fucking high ground on this one." Without further conversation, he pushed past Dan and left the room.

XXXX

Catherine's hands were still shaking as she took the full glass from Joanie and brought it hesitantly to her lips. She took a small sip at first then, feeling the liquid burn her throat, tossed the glass back and drained it in one. Almost immediately, she felt a warm glow spread from within and soothe her panic. She put the empty glass down on the table and wiped her mouth.

Joanie filled it again. "Better?"

Catherine nodded and drained the second glass, "Thank you for…well…"

"You're welcome."

"I ain't even never thanked you for the first time you helped me, after I got beaten."

"Mr Utter did more than me," Joanie said. "Besides, he passed me your thanks."

Catherine nodded, then put her head in her hands again, "Oh God…I wish… I wish he'd just let me fuck him!"

Joanie didn't say anything for a long moment. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Lord knows, I know what kind of things go on at places like the Gem and the Bella Union."

"No, it ain't like that. It's…" she found herself blurting out the whole story from Claggett's arrival in the Gem to his ultimate departure at Dan's hands. As she recalled the moment when her knife had sliced into Al's body, she broke down in tears again.

"You don't know that he's dead."

"He has to be. I stuck the knife right in, it went right in! I…" Tears streaked down her cheeks again. "Many a time over the last few years I've wished for this but now…"

"Must admit I was surprised when you wed," Joanie said with a nervous laugh, "You and he…I figured you hated him as much as I hated Cy."

Catherine looked up, "It ain't the same between Al and I as it is between you and Cy."

"I know that. I didn't mean…"

"He's never…I mean, I've never…" she broke off, "and yet I would have if it would have spared all this."

Joanie got to her feet and put her hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Look, why don't you take a bath and I can…I can give you a dress to wear. You ain't going to feel any better sitting there looking like that." Catherine looked for the first time at her mud-stained appearance and nodded dumbly. "And I could go to the Gem, find out how he is and…let you know, if you like."

"No," Catherine said quickly, "I don't want to know. I don't…I can't…"

"All right," Joanie said, "well, you're more than welcome to stay here as long as you need. Until you can face going back, that is, or until someone comes to get you."

"Someone comes to get me," Catherine echoed.

XXXX

"What did Doc say?" Johnny asked Dan as Cochrane marched purposefully out of the Gem.

"Reckons if he don't get infected he should be fine," Dan replied, pouring himself a whisky. "Wants the girls to take turns sitting with him tonight to make sure."

"What about Catherine?"

"What about her?"

"Shouldn't we go find her? Let her know he ain't dead?"

"He could still die, Johnny. What's the point in telling her he's all right if he dies during the night? What the fuck good would that do? Besides, we don't even know where the fuck she is."

"I suppose you're right," Johnny acquiesced. "We can find her in the morning."

"Sure."

"You…uh…you know what Al wrote in that note he showed Doc?"

Dan paused for a moment and then poured himself another drink, "None of our business."

April 11th 1876

When Doc walked into Al's bedroom the following morning he was reassured by the condition of his patient. Although pale, there was a definite easing in his breathing. When he had arrived at the Gem, Dan had told him that Al had had a fairly restful night. No sign of fever or any other malady to report from any of the girls who had sat with him. Doc had thanked him for the information but, beyond that, could barely look at the other man. It was also clear that Catherine hadn't returned to the Gem, the reasons for which he remained unsure of.

He moved over to Al's bed and silently laid his kit on the floor before gently drawing back the covers. The wound was still dressed and he lowered his to sniff for the telltale odour of any infection.

"You…better have good reason…to do that."

Lifting his head, Doc saw Al's eyes slightly opened and staring at him. "I'm checking for infection," he said stiffly.

"And is there any?" Al asked softly.

"Doesn't look like it," Doc pulled the cover back over the other man's chest. "You in any pain?"

Al shifted every so slightly on the bed, as though testing himself and nodded. "Little bit."

"I'll leave some more of this," Doc reached into his bag and pulled out a fresh bottle of laudanum which he placed on the bedside table next to the now half empty one he had left the previous evening. "Take it as and when required."

"I know how to administer laudanum."

"Well fucking do it then," Doc said, sharper than he had really intended. He felt Al's eyes on him as he moved away from the bed and lifted his kit. "I'll come back and check on you tonight. If there are any problems, you'll know where to have your right hand man find me."

"Tone would suggest something's amiss with you." Al observed.

Doc paused and turned back to the bed. "Right now, Al, I'm pleased that you're already making a good recovery but, beyond that, I look at you and see only someone that I am fucking ashamed to have called my friend."

"Cathy…"

"She has a right to know what you did to her."

Al cast his eyes around the room as though expecting to find his wife hiding in a corner somewhere. "Where is she?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. No doubt she's hiding out somewhere convinced that she's killed you." He turned away. "Might have been better if she had."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you!" Doc retaliated, whirling back around to face the bed. "Fuck you, Al and everything you've done to her! You don't deserve to have her and if she ever finds out what the truth is, I wouldn't bet on a woman like Catherine not telling you to go fuck yourself too!"

"I was clear…" Al said, wincing as he moved slightly in the bed, "If I died…"

"And you ain't dead," Doc finished for him.

"Exactly. Ain't no reason for her to know anything."

Doc shook his head in disgust, "Well then I leave it to your conscience." As he made to leave the room, he met Dan coming in. "You two deserve each other."

Dan waited until Doc was out of earshot before speaking, "Was that about…?" Al nodded. "Is he going to say anything to her?"

"Doc's got a conscience, but he also knows his fucking place," Al winced again. "Why ain't Catherine here?"

"Dan shrugged, "We didn't know where she went. Figured it might be best to wait and see how you was before we brought her news that might be wrong."

"Find her."

"Where do you think she would be?"

"How the fuck would I know, Dan? Just find her and bring her back here."

"Yes boss," Dan left without further conversation.

Al lay back against the pillows and sighed heavily. He hoped she was all right and he was relieved that she need never know the truth.

XXXX

Catherine stood at the window of the Chez Ami staring out at the people passing by, going about their daily business, completely oblivious to what had transpired the previous evening. Or perhaps they did know. Perhaps news of what she had done had already spread. Perhaps, at this very moment, Bullock was looking for her, ready to arrest her, unable to believe that she could have killed a second man in either self defence or by accident.

She had barely slept the previous evening, instead had lain in the bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every horrific moment over and over again in her mind until exhaustion had eventually overtaken her at daybreak and she had fallen into a troubled slumber, only to be woken by Joanie bringing her a washbowl.

"You want to come to the hotel for breakfast?"

She turned from her position by the window to see Joanie standing behind her. "No," she shook her head, "I ain't hungry. You go, I'll be all right here...for a while."

"Are you sure? I could bring you something back?"

"No," she turned back to the window. "No I…" she broke off and gasped suddenly as she caught sight of Dan making his way along the thoroughfare towards them.

"What is it?" Joanie joined her at the window and followed her gaze. "I'll talk to him."

"No!" Catherine grabbed her arm as she made to leave, "I don't want to know! I can't…"

"Catherine…you need to know," Joanie insisted. "Either way, good or bad, you need to know."

Reluctantly, Catherine released her grip and watched as Joanie left and intercepted Dan as he was about to pass. She saw her gesture back to the window, saw Dan look over, saw them talking and then Joanie made her way back towards the door. Taking a deep breath, Catherine steeled herself for the news.

"He's alive," Joanie relayed when she came back inside. "He's alive and he wants to see you."

For a moment, Catherine thought she was going to faint and she sank down onto the window ledge for support, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. He was alive, he was alive! She hadn't killed him, she hadn't…footsteps made her look up to see Dan standing in front of her.

"Al wants you back at the Gem," he said, though he couldn't quite seem to meet her gaze.

"He's alive?" she asked, needing to hear it directly herself.

"Yeah."

"And he's not…not angry with me, is he?"

"No," he shifted uncomfortably, "you coming? Bedridden he may be, but if I go back there without you, he'll be mighty fucking unhappy."

"Go, Catherine," Joanie encouraged her. "It's a happy outcome."

Catherine took the other woman's hands in hers, "Thank you for helping me. I really do appreciate it, and if I can ever repay the favour, you know that I will."

"I know," Joanie said, "but you're most welcome. Oh, don't forget your dress."

"Thank you, and I'll have this one returned to you as soon as I can."

"Keep it, you look better in it than I do anyways."

"You coming?" Dan urged, shifting from foot to foot. "Al was anxious I get you back."

With a final thanks and goodbye to Joanie, Catherine followed him out of the Chez Ami and they walked silently side by side back towards the Gem. Her mind was racing. Al was all right. He was going to be all right and he wasn't angry with her about what had happened. He would understand. She couldn't even begin to describe the relief that she felt.

As they turned towards the Gem, she caught sight of Doc coming towards them. "Doc!" she called out, quickening her pace towards him, "Doc!"

"Catherine, wait!" Dan called after her. "Wait!"

Doc stopped when he saw her coming towards him, "Catherine."

"Dan told me Al's all right, he's going to be all right! You saved his life!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him. "You've no idea how worried I was. How convinced I was that he was dead, that I had killed him!" She pulled back. "He is going to recover now, isn't he Doc? I mean, he's not going to suddenly…"

"I have every confidence that, given time and the appropriate rest and care, Al will make a full recovery."

"Well, I will care for him and make sure he gets plenty of rest and soup and anything else you think he fucking needs…" she threw her arms around him again, thereby missing the look he and Dan exchanged over her head. "Thank you, thank you…"

Doc prised her gently away from him, "You're welcome." Then he moved on past without a backwards glance.

Before Dan could say anything further, Catherine had taken to her heels and started hurrying towards the Gem without him. He looked back at Doc's retreating figure before turning in time to see Catherine disappear inside the saloon.

And he hoped to God, for all their sakes, that Al was right.


	16. Chapter 16

Al could feel himself succumbing to sleep. The physical toll the injury, and surgery, had taken on his body coupled with the laudanum meant it was often a struggle to keep his eyes open. To his embarrassment, he had been mid-conversation with Johnny earlier only to nod off and waken a good hour later. The other man had yet to mention it, but Al was determined that it wasn't going to happen again. Weakness wasn't an option, regardless of what had happened to him.

He hungered for Catherine, for the sound of her voice, the softness of her skin and the visual knowledge that she still belonged to him. That the terrible revelation he had made to Doc need go no further and that she would lie safely by his side again.

Just as he thought he was about to drift off, the sound of heels on wood roused him and, seconds later, Catherine appeared at the bottom of the bed. She was slightly out of breath, wisps of hair escaping from her clip and she was wearing a claret coloured dress that he couldn't recall seeing before. But the most prominent thing was the look of abject relief in her eyes, not to mention the relief that he himself felt at seeing her.

"She returns."

"I was…" she hovered at his feet, "I was at the Chez Ami. Joanie…Miss Stubbs…"

"Intending on raising yourself to a higher standard of whoremistressing?" he asked.

"No, she…I…well I stayed there last night because I didn't know…" she broke off and took a deep, shuddering breath, one fist balled against her heaving chest. "I thought I'd killed you."

"I know," he nodded, "but, as you can see, it takes more than a knife in the fucking guts to do away with me, which is more than can be said for some others." It was meant as a joke, but at the words, her face crumpled and she covered her face with her hands. "Cathy…"

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her body shaking. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Al watched her cry, finding himself uncharacteristically touched at her affection for him. It had been so long since he had genuinely believed another person cared for him beyond that of fear or respect. Why did I do it? he asked himself. Why would I have ever wanted to hurt her? "Stop fucking crying," he said gruffly.

Catherine pulled her hands away from her face and wiped her tear-stained cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Told you before you don't ever have to say that to me. Besides, it was an accident. Weren't nothing else you could do when the moment came. Could have turned out a whole lot different if you hadn't come in when you did."

"You would have killed him," she said loyally.

Al shook his head, "More like he would have fucking killed me. Don't know what went wrong but…" he trailed off. "Let's just say, neither of us were at our fucking best yesterday." She nodded in agreement but made no move to come any closer to him. "Come here," he said finally. She moved over to the chair beside the bed and sat slowly down in it. "Look," he gently pulled back the covers to reveal his dressed wound.

"Oh Lord," she said, her eyes filling with tears again on sight of it. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not so much," he said "the point is, it looks fine, it is fine, I'm fine and there is nothing to fucking cry about, understand me?" She nodded. "Anyways, you owe me an ass fuck."

Catherine started laughing despite herself. "I thought the deal was I would let you ass fuck me if you were still standing after your encounter with Claggett and, from where I'm sitting…" she gestured to the bed.

"You refusing a sick man an ass fuck?"

"No…" she said, reaching out and putting her hand over his, "but something tells me you ain't going to find it easy to ass fuck me right now."

"I could find a way." His eyes danced over her face and while it was smooth and blemish free now, it was all too easy to remember the bruises that had littered it before, to remember how she had looked that night when Charlie had carried her into the Gem…to remember that it had all been at his vicarious hand. He screwed his eyes shut at the memory.

"Are you all right?"

Opening his eyes again he looked up into her worried face, reached up and placed his hand against her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the remaining tracks of her tears. She turned her face into it and he was instantly transported to the whores' room downstairs, back to the day she had knifed Baker. The first day he had put hands on her and begun to realise how she made him feel.

Catherine leant forward in her seat, bending so that her lips brushed against his and he moved his hand to the back of her head, pulling her towards him, his mouth hard on hers, his tongue pushing between her teeth to find her own. Fingers unlocked the pin in her hair, causing it to fall down around her and onto his face. He wanted her, needed her to climb atop him at that very moment, push her panties to one side and lower herself onto his burgeoning hardness. He needed to feel himself encased by her, to know that his terrible secret remained just that and that her love and affection lived on.

"I'm gonna have to put my foot down," she said, pulling back suddenly as he reached for the buttons on the front of her dress.

"About what?" he asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"You need your rest," she sat back in the chair.

"Having my prick sucked always sends me right to fucking sleep," he replied suggestively.

Catherine got to her feet, "With my track record right now, I'd bite the fucking thing off. I'll bring you some soup." She turned and walked back towards the door, stopping just before she reached it and turning back. "Al, I…"

"Spit it out," he said, when she fell silent.

"I love you," she said finally. "I just…if you hadn't known before…"

"I knew and I know," he replied. She smiled, nodded and then left the room. "Fuck me…"Al said, lying back against the pillows.

April 20th 1876

Catherine had found it hard to sleep in the days following Al's stabbing. Though he had made it clear to her that he bore her no ill-will, understanding her motivation had been to help him, she couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt as she watched him struggle with the simplest tasks. He remained in bed, weak in body if not in mind, and she loyally traipsed up and down the stairs bringing him meals, drinks and anything else he wanted. Not to mention assisting him when he required to use the piss pot.

"Can't believe it's fucking come to this," he had declared, as she had steadied him next to the wall.

"I ain't looking."

"That ain't the fucking point!" But he had still held onto her and allowed her to support him back to the bed before attempting, once again, to have her join him in more than just restful slumber an offer she, once again, had good naturedly refused.

"You'll never be off your fucking feet," Jewel had told her initially as she prepared a breakfast tray for him.

"Doesn't matter," Catherine had replied.

"He'll take advantage," the other woman had said sagely.

"It doesn't fucking matter, Jewel!" She had rounded on her. "I'm his wife! I stabbed him! Whatever the hell he wants me to do, I'll fucking do!" No-one had mentioned it again and though she ended each day exhausted from her efforts, in her own mind it made up for what had happened.

To be fair to Al, he was always pleasant in his requests to her, never shouting or demanding the way he did with the boys or Jewel, and each gesture was met with his thanks. In some strange way, she almost felt closer to him as a result of the incident than she had before.

Nights could be strained, as Al often found it hard to find a comfortable position to lie in and, more often than not, she found herself lying on the tiniest edge, allowing him the full spread of the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Then the nightmares started. From vague mumblings in sleep to full blown cries of anguish that woke both of them up, night after night the visions came and, night after night, Al refused to divulge their content or discuss them with her beyond his grateful acceptance of water or tea or a sponge atop his brow to send him back to sleep. She had offered on numerous occasions to return to her old room and allow him to face the demons in private but he always refused. "Waking from those dreams alone would make them seem ten fucking times worse than knowing I wake you with my hollering," he had told her.

On this particular day, Doc was in checking on the girls and she took the time to tell him about what Al was suffering and whether or not he could prescribe anything. To her surprise, the other man seemed less than willing to offer any other assistance other than the laudanum already prescribed and his cryptic comment, "Innocent men need not fear their dreams," left her even more confused.

"Doc's in a fucking strange mood," she opined to Al once the other man had left.

"How so?"

"Well, I told him about the dreams you were having and his solution was to tell me that 'innocent men need not fear their dreams.'" She shook her head. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Beats me," Al replied, his attention suddenly taken up with something in that morning's Pioneer.

Though the comment still confused her, Catherine put it to the back of her mind and continued about her daily chores. After tidying the bedroom and office as best she could, bringing Al the paperwork he had asked for and checking on the girls, she decided that it was an ideal time to return Joanie's dress and thank her for all her help.

"I'm going to the Chez Ami," she said, once she had brought Al his lunch.

"What for?"

"To take Miss Stubbs back the dress she kindly leant me," she replied. "I might call on Doc too, see if he hasn't come up with something that might aid your sleep."

"Don't fucking bother!" Al said sharply, looking at her over the top of his glasses. "Whatever the fuck's bothering him, leave him to it."

"I wasn't going to ask him anything about that," she protested, "I was only…"

"I know you and what you were only going to do," he interrupted. "Stay the fuck away from him."

Catherine frowned, "Al…"

"One more word, Cathy and I'll leap out this fucking bed and tie you to a fucking chair lest it might hasten you in your chosen course!"

"Well, it's good to see you're feeling more like your old self," she replied, lifting the dress from where it had been hanging. "Perhaps by the time I return you'll have minded your temper." Before he could say any more, she swept out of the room.

XXXX

When she arrived at the Chez Ami, Catherine was surprised to find a hive of activity. All the doors and windows were thrown open and there appeared to be a number of women within, all tidying and cleaning and moving things around. The sound of voices and laughter spilled out onto the street and, at first, no-one noticed her as she stood in the doorway.

Eventually, an older woman spied her and walked over to her. "If you're looking for work, I'm afraid that we already have all the girls we need."

Catherine laughed, "I ain't looking for work. I'm Catherine Swearengen, from the Gem and I'm looking for Miss Stubbs."

At that moment, Joanie appeared and hurried over towards her, "Afternoon Mrs Swearengen."

"And to you."

"It's good to see you out and about. You've been holed up in the Gem so much this last week."

"Al commands a lot of my attention," she confided, "but he seemed in good spirits today so I decided it was about time I returned this to you," she held out the dress. "I'm only sorry I didn't have someone bring it sooner."

"Not at all," Joanie said, taking it from her, "I'd almost forgotten you had it." She stepped back, "Won't you come inside?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude, you look as though you're getting ready to open soon."

"Next few days," Joanie replied. "This is my partner, Mattie. Mattie, Catherine Swearengen."

"Who is not looking for work," Mattie said, holding out her hand.

"No," Catherine replied. "I have more than enough to be doing at the Gem."

"You run the women there?"

"In a manner of speaking." She stepped back. "Well I should leave you ladies to your work."

"Thank you," Joanie said, "for the dress."

"You're welcome," Catherine replied. "Perhaps…" she trailed off.

"Perhaps?"

"Perhaps we could have lunch sometime, at the hotel. Perhaps even the three of us," she gestured to Mattie, "if work allows us the time."

"I'd like that," Joanie replied. "And…uh…please call me Joanie."

"If you call me Catherine."

"It's a deal."

"All right then," Catherine turned to go. "I'll hopefully see you soon."

XXXX

"Do not fucking summon me as though I were one of your minions," Doc said, angrily twisting the handle of his bag as he stood at the bottom of Al's bed. "I do not take kindly to it."

"You're here, ain't you?" Al replied.

"Not through fucking choice. I don't appreciate having Dan come to my home and physically force me to come here," he cast a look over his shoulder to where the other man was standing. "You and I have been friends too long for that, Al!"

"Thought you said we were no longer friends?" Al challenged him. "Ashamed, is the word I believe you used."

Doc looked away momentarily. "What do you want?"

"I want your sure and certain promise that information, passed to you during the time my life was in imminent fucking danger, stays between us."

"I already told you I was leaving it to your own conscience."

"And yet your sour mood is becoming a bit of a fucking problem around here," Al said, "to the point where Catherine is fucking commenting on it and, while we're on the subject…innocent men need not fear their dreams? What the fuck is that?"

"Whatever the fuck you want it to be," Doc replied defiantly. "Perhaps you wouldn't be experiencing such dreams had you a clear conscience."

"And in the meantime we have to suffer you in this fucking state?"

Doc met his gaze in surprise, "The meantime? Does that mean you intend telling her?"

"I ain't made up my mind yet," Al said, shifting in the bed, "but if I decide she needs to know the truth, if I decide, it will be from me that she will hear it, not you and that means…"

"I said I wouldn't…"

"And that means…" Al interrupted, "that I would appreciate your changing your fucking attitude."

Doc was silent for a long moment before speaking further, "I care about that girl, Al."

"As do I, more than I believe you will ever understand. This may come as a surprise to you, Doc, but the last thing I want is to fucking hurt her more than I already have. And I find myself weighing up what course of action will cause her the lesser pain. Surely you approve of such procrastination?"

Doc opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps and Catherine burst into the room.

"Doc! What a pleasant surprise! I actually stopped past your surgery on the way back from the Chez Ami."

"My apologies for not being there," Doc replied softly.

"Now I know Al told me not to pressure you, but I was just wondering if you had maybe had any further thoughts on something that might aid his sleep. I promise I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Doc and Al exchanged a glance and the latter could feel his heart thumping in his chest. What was to stop Doc from blurting everything out now? He may fear the consequences, but Al knew his intentions were pure. He watched as the other man glanced at the floor before looking back at Catherine.

"As it happens, I may have something," he said. "I'll need to check my stock but I should be able to prepare a draught and bring it to you this evening."

Catherine grinned happily, "That would be fucking wonderful. Anything that might help would be appreciated."

"Well then," Doc said, shifting his feet, "I'll…see you later."

"Goodbye Doc," Al said. The other man looked at him briefly, inclined his head and then left the room, Dan following close behind.

Catherine turned to him, "I knew Doc would come good in the end."

Al nodded, keen to divert the conversation away from dangerous territory. "What kind of day is it?"

"Sunny, fairly warm."

"I fancy sojourning on the fucking balcony," he declared, throwing back the bedclothes and moving to the edge of the bed.

"Careful!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "Al, I really don't think it's a good idea for you to be going outside or standing for too long I…"

"Just fucking help me," he groaned. She let him wind his arm across her shoulders and helped him lift his weight up from the bed and slowly begin traversing across the room to the balcony doors.

"Are you sure you want to…?"

"Shut the fuck up," he said, "I'm as fit as a man at my stage of recovery should be." He let out a slight groan as they moved through the doors and out onto the balcony, the brilliant sunshine hitting him and warming his face. She helped him move forward so he could hold onto the balcony rail and stepped slightly to one side.

Al looked out across Deadwood, his camp, his kingdom, as his subjects went about their business. The sights, the smells and the sounds seemed to rejuvenate him and he felt his strength returning. No matter what happened, no matter who tried to cross him in whatever way, he knew that no-one would ever be able to dethrone him.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sunlight on Catherine's face, her hair ablaze in the afternoon light and the warm glow spread within him. In that moment, he suddenly realised that the feeling of warmth, of happiness, of peace, had less to do with his standing in the camp and more to do with the woman standing by his side.

She caught him looking at him and turned to face him, "Everything all right?"

"Fine," he replied, turning back to the scene before him. "Hell of a place, ain't it?"

Catherine rested her cheek against his shoulder, "Hell of a place."

THE END


End file.
